The Consultant
by Unbeautifully-Broken
Summary: Draco Malfoy's wife and child are murdered. After years of searching for their killer, he's assigned as a consultant to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. His team, led by Hermione Granger, race to stop the murderer when it seems he's preparing to kill again. EWE. Will be dark. Rated Strong T for Language, Adult Themes DM/HG PLEASE REVIEW!
1. Gloomy Sunday

A/N: I haven't written anything in a long, long while, but this has been niggling at my brain for a few weeks. I don't have a beta, so I apologize in advance for errors.

This is canon compliant, but ignores the epilogue in Deathly Hallows, specifically the time frame and Hermione's relationship with Ron.

This is not a crossover. Rather, it is a cross between my two favorites: Harry Potter and The Mentalist.

This may be an unoriginal idea, but I'm hoping it's different enough to keep you reading :)

Let me know what you think!

* * *

Chapter 1

The glare from the lights alone blinded him; the shocking colour of the fluorescent hat upon his interviewer's head didn't help matters.

"So give us an update on where you are in your life right now, Mr. Malfoy. You've kept a low profile the last few years, save for your professional exploits. My readers are dying to know what you've been up to behind closed doors," Rita Skeeter said, raising an eyebrow suggestively. Draco barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

"As I've told countless reporters before, my private life is mine. I have no interest in sharing it with anyone else." He felt his charmed token vibrate in his pocket, reminding him of his meeting, but he ignored it to focus on getting this over with as quickly as possible. "Next question, then."

"Not interested in sharing, you say?" she hedged, and he fought hard not to let Skeeter see him tense. "Does that mean, perhaps, that you're still unattached? No beautiful witches in Draco Malfoy's life?"

The sound of her quill scratching furiously against her notepad irked him so completely that he felt angry heat fill his sinuses and envelop his brain. Never again would he agree to one of these stupid fucking interviews. He made a mental note to fire his secretary for agreeing to this on his behalf; he'd vehemently expressed that Skeeter was off limits. But he'd refused to cancel their appointment. Hopefully if he kept Skeeter happy, he could avoid becoming a target of her vengeful harassment. He flashed her a most polite smile and glanced around the quiet drawing room, thinking about the woman who had recently had it redecorated. It was the last room in the manor to be completed, finally transforming his home into an entirely different place than it had been during the war.

"None in quite some time, except, of course, for my mother. I've yet to meet a witch as beautiful or as interesting." There. Brief, diplomatic, and dismissive all at once. He leaned forward in his chair slightly, and Skeeter unconsciously leaned in as well. "But that's off the record," he breathed, winking conspiratorially. Skeeter blinked when he settled back against the chair again, and her face flushed as she straightened her torso and cleared her throat.

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy. I'd never dream of painting you as a lonely, celibate wizard. It's wonderful that you devote so much of your time to caring for your mother. And bringing your dead family to justice, of course." She looked pointedly at him, crossing one leg over the knee of the other and pressing her fingertips together. "How's that endeavor going, hmm? Any progress?"

Draco felt his face shut down immediately, without conscious thought. He was used to this line of questioning and gave the same response every time.

"I'm closer than I've ever been." He stood, glaring down at Skeeter, and he loathed that she'd touched such a raw nerve. From the smug, acidic look on her face, she knew it. Draco reached out to shake her hand; years of pureblood breeding automatically inspired the gesture. She took his hand and rose from her seat, her quill still scratching away. "This interview is over. Have a good day, Ms. Skeeter." Draco coldly turned away, already walking toward the door. Rita Skeeter took her time following behind him.

"One of these days, Mr. Malfoy, I'll have my answers, too. One way or another," she said teasingly, but he picked up on the threat. He turned to face her just as he reached the door. She grinned at him, her sickly green robes clashing terribly with her skin. Draco gestured to the open door.

"Surely you can see yourself out. Once you've passed the gates, you'll be outside the Apparition wards. I look forward to reading your article." Draco turned on his heel before she could make another snide remark and headed for the sanctity of his room. He crooked his finger at the first house-elf he encountered, Wispy. The elf shuffled forward, her droopy ears flopping behind her.

"Master Malfoy, sir? What can Wispy do for you?" the elf mumbled, her wide eyes searching his own.

"Make sure that Skeeter woman gets off my property in the next thirty seconds. Come and find me when she's gone." He stalked past the elf, not slowing down, and turned into his room just as he heard the "pop" that signaled Wispy had Apparated.

Draco walked directly across his bedroom toward his balcony, throwing his outermost robe onto his bed as he went. The curtains and double doors were already open to the fresh spring air; a sweetly scented breeze filtered through his hair as he stepped outside, looking out over the gardens. No sooner had he reached into his pocket and withdrawn a cigarette than Wispy popped back into his presence.

"Wispy has seen the Skeeter woman on her way, Master," the elf supplied helpfully. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Sir?" Draco saw Wispy eye his cigarette suspiciously, but she wisely didn't say anything. Draco nodded.

"Please inform my mother that I'll be along for dinner around eight this evening." Draco withdrew his wand and used it to light the cigarette. Placing his wand back into his pocket and the cigarette between his lips, he sighed and took a long drag. Wispy watched, her eyes growing impossibly wide, as he released a smoky breath. "I have another meeting in a few minutes in Diagon Alley. If there's an emergency, come and find me there. Otherwise, I want absolutely no interruptions. This is important."

"Yes, of course, Sir. Wispy understands. I'll tell my lady immediately." Draco nodded curtly and let his eyes roam over the manicured gardens again, stopping to admire the freshly blooming gardenias. After a moment, he sensed that Wispy had not left him, and he raised an eyebrow curiously at her. She was ringing her tattered garment - a tea towel - between her long-fingered hands and avoiding his eyes.

"What is it, Wispy? Are you confused by my request?"

"N-no, Master, sir. I-I just…you do know, sir, that those-those things," she said, pointing a shaking finger at his cigarette, "those are dangerous, sir. Wispy's friend Mickle once worked for a half-blood who used those, you see, and they made him quite ill, sir, and he never recovered, even with healing potions-"

"Wispy," Draco interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. He tapped his cigarette against the balcony railing and blew out another puff of smoke. "You can't be serious. I've been practically enslaved by an evil wizard, fought in a war, and now…you know what I've survived. I'm hardly afraid of an illness." He turned away again, walking to the other side of the large balcony and snuffing out his finished cigarette before tossing it over the side. As soon as he did, he realized how it must've looked-like he was taking orders from a house elf. "Mind your own business, Wispy. Go to my mother now."

"Yes, sir," Wispy said sadly, and then she disappeared. Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He was eager for his meeting. The lead he was following was quite promising, and the first solid clue he'd come across in nearly three months. For that reason, though, he was also gripped with an icy fear that was so cold it made him shiver and burned his throat at the same time. He tried to stay positive. If nothing else, he could cross a name off his list after today.

One down, but so many left to go.

-:-

Hermione Granger would never admit it, but since the Wizarding War had ended ten years earlier and she'd settled into a routine at her Ministry job, she took great guilty pleasure in reading the Daily Prophet on Sundays. She'd gotten so used to her adrenalin-fueled adventures with Harry and Ron that the last few years she'd felt…tired. Bored. So she sat in a ray of warm sunlight in her breakfast nook, cuddled beside Crookshanks and sipping a cup of rather sweet coffee. More milk than coffee, actually, but it was Sunday and that made it okay.

Hermione knew, of course, that the Daily Prophet was utter bollocks for the most part, but she always found a few skewed stories that gave her a good chuckle. Since Harry had practically disappeared from the public eye, she always enjoyed reading the Prophet's wild speculations about his recent activity. The headline "Harry Potter Spotted Purchasing Love Potion on Honeymoon: Trouble in Paradise?" elicited a particularly wonderful belly-laugh when it suggested Harry was having a sordid affair with an older wizard.

"Nonsense. I can't wait to write Ginny to ask who the lucky bloke is," she murmured, stroking Crookshanks lovingly. Then she paused in thought. "You know, Crooks, I always did think Harry was a bit-"

She was cut off by the sound of an owl screeching just outside the open window, and looked up in time to catch a letter as it fell from the claws of Tibbins, a familiar Ministry owl. Tibbins hooted quietly as he settled on the back of one of her dining chairs to wait for a reply.

Hermione broke the Ministry seal on the letter immediately and unfolded the parchment to read the familiar handwriting. It was from Mafalda Hopkirk, her colleague in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"'Hermione,'" she read aloud, as she often did when alone, "'Please expect to meet with myself, Horace Slughorn and Minister Shacklebolt first thing tomorrow morning. I can only speculate as to the reason for the meeting. I'll see you there.'" Crookshanks nuzzled Hermione's fingers, seeming to realize that she was intrigued. "Slughorn's coming, and the Minister. I wonder what's happened?" She patted his head and withdrew her wand to Summon the pouch of treats from her kitchen counter and a quill from her writing desk. She scribbled a quick reply at the bottom of the parchment before returning it to the owl.

"Here, Tibbins. Good boy," she said, handing the bird a treat. It nipped affectionately at her hand, causing Crookshanks to growl warningly. "Have a good day."

Tibbons hooted and flew out the window again, just as a warm breeze floated through the open glass. Hermione smiled. Autumn was her favorite season, as it always reminded her of returning to Hogwarts, but spring was nice, too.

She glanced back down at her copy of the Daily Prophet and an article by Rita Skeeter caught her eye. As much as she enjoyed privately reading the gossip, she avoided Skeeter's articles. They were never written in so that they could be interpreted as silly or far-fetched in a hapless, good-natured way. They were incendiary, volatile, and insulting. But this one, and the included picture of a platinum-haired, handsome wizard, captured her undivided attention: "Lonely Bachelor Draco Malfoy No Closer to Avenging Dead Wife and Child."

Hermione let out a slow breath. Regardless of how she personally felt about Draco Malfoy, he had helped their cause in the war, and committed to many other charitable causes for the betterment of Muggles and Muggle-borns since Voldemort's demise. But on a more basic level, he was a fellow human being, and he'd been through an unimaginable loss.

Two years after the war had ended, Malfoy had married Astoria Greengrass. They'd had one son, Scorpius, and as far as she or the gossip rags knew, they'd been happy enough. The Wizarding world was mending and Malfoy and his company, Malfoy Enterprises, had never been better. With his father remanded to Azkaban for a life sentence, he'd no doubt thought he was safe. But he wasn't.

To Hermione, that was the cruelest thing about his situation. The war was done. Everyone had moved on. Everyone thought there would be peace. And then, one night, his new peace was stolen away. Only blood and a killer's grim calling card remained. Images from countless magazines of Draco Malfoy stumbling into the Ministry, covered in blood and completely in shock, flashed across Hermione's mind. Then the personal images of when he'd sat before her, Minister Shacklebolt and others as he recounted discovering his family's bodies. It had been six years ago, but she would never forget what he'd looked like. She'd never seen him so broken and unhinged, even when he'd been under Voldemort's wicked thumb.

Hermione folded the paper and placed it back on the small table as her mind swirled with thoughts of Draco Malfoy, her customary coffee forgotten. She felt a pang of pity for her former bully, turned former ally. If she believed the Prophet to be accurate on this, he hadn't made much progress on his private hunt for the man who had slain his family. She knew he was still empty, regardless of how he tried to appear in public. He was a ruined wizard.

And a Muggle had been the one to ruin him.

-:-

Draco blinked as the sunlight streaming into his room slowly roused him from the first deep sleep he'd had in two weeks. He glanced at the clock on his bedside table and grimaced as he realized he'd only slept three hours. Yesterday hadn't afforded him the victory he'd craved, but at least he'd been able to glean enough information from his meeting to dismiss at least one suspect. Unfortunately, it was his strongest suspect, which had led to a night of heavy drinking and regrettably, Draco collapsing in a pool of his own vomit.

He supposed Wispy had cleaned him up and moved him to his bed. He'd thank the elf later. He was already going to be late.

Groaning, he realized he would be delivering bad news today. At least no one would be as devastated by his lack of progress as Draco himself.

Five minutes later, Draco was dressed impeccably, though his head was pounding. He gathered his wand and pouch of galleons, checked and double-checked that his notes were in order, then placed them carefully back into their folder before shrinking them down and tucking them in his robes. He took a deep breath and suppressed a groan at the sharp pain that surged at his temples. Licking his lips, he stepped over to his fireplace, grabbed a fistful of Floo powder, and stepped into the ashes.

In his pocket, he traced the side of his token, his wife's wedding ring, and was lost in wistful thoughts.

You can do this, he told himself. You must do this. For them.

Before he could second-guess himself, he tossed the powder at his feet and shouted "Ministry of Magic!"

-:-

"Good morning, Mafalda!" Hermione greeted, smiling brightly at her friend. Mafalda returned the smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Have a good weekend, then? You look well-rested." Mafalda collected several sheets of parchment in her hands and tapped them against the desk to straighten them. Then she glanced around to be sure they wouldn't be overheard before lowering her voice and grinning mischievously. "Did you read the Daily Prophet yesterday? Oh, Merlin! That story about Harry buying that love potion-"

"Just horrible!" Hermione giggled, closing the conference room door behind her. "At least we can be comforted in the thought that no one of sound mind will believe that rubbish." She hurriedly walked around the table to sit beside Mafalda, slinging her bag around the back of the chair before dropping into her seat. Then a dark look crossed her features, and she sighed heavily. "Did you read…the other article? The one by Skeeter?"

Mafalda regarded her with confusion before casting her eyes to her parchment and fumbling with her quill.

"I did. I thought you didn't read those. They're awful. I wouldn't have bothered if…"

"-if you hadn't been there. I know. Me, too. I'll never forget that day." Hermione realized no one would remember it as clearly and as eternally as Draco Malfoy, and she felt overwhelming pity for him again.

"Oh, dear. I can't imagine being in his place. I only met his wife and child once, and I still think of them every single day. Especially cruel of the Prophet to run such an article on the anniversary, too."

"I agree. Tasteless. But not shocking in the least."

They lapsed into a melancholy silence, each witch arranging her blank pieces of parchment on the table, preparing to take notes, taking sips of coffee - Hermione's was black today - and remembering that unusually cold morning in May six years before. Just as Hermione realized she had no idea what this meeting was about and turned to Mafalda to ask, their colleagues joined them.

The sound of the doorknob turning caused them both to look up as Horace Slughorn and Kingsley Shacklebolt entered. Slughorn appeared aloof, even grinning at the women, but Shacklebolt looked appropriately solemn. He nodded to them both before taking his seat at the head of the large table, with Mafalda on his left. He placed a thick folder on the table and Hermione's eyes widened. Slughorn walked around to sit beside Hermione. He didn't have a quill or parchment to take notes. She tried not to look bothered by his obvious lack of preparation.

"Good morning, Miss Granger. How have things been getting on in your unit? Quite well, I suspect, with you at the helm! I'm certainly proud of your accomplishments! Er-proud _for_ you, of course!" Slughorn rambled, and Hermione fought hard to smile. She'd never been particularly close to or fond of her former professor. He was terrible at picking up on social cues and it still bothered her that he'd tried to "collect" Harry as though he was a shiny trophy, but he was an accomplished wizard and she did have a measure of respect for him.

"It's…getting on, Mr. Slughorn-"

"Horace, please-"

Hermione kept her smile pleasant.

"We are a bit short-staffed at the moment, but other than that, everything is going well. Luna Lovegood has just finished her training and joined our team as a Junior Auror." Hermione felt a swell of pride fill her chest. She'd had a part in training Luna, and was excited that she was joining her department. Luna had started off writing for The Quibbler right after leaving Hogwarts, but she'd ultimately decided on a different career path, and Hermione knew she would make an excellent Auror.

"Splendid! And that Longbottom fellow, how are things going with him? I never thought he was the brightest candle in school, if you know what I mean!" he chuckled and nudged her a little too hard with his elbow. Hermione grimaced.

"Neville is actually quite intelligent. He's our Curses and Hexes Specialist. We've closed several difficult cases thanks to his work." She glanced at Shacklebolt, hoping she didn't sound bitchy. He gave her a knowing look and cleared his throat.

"Mr. Longbottom is an invaluable asset to your team, Hermione. I have no doubt." Hermione felt Slughorn shift in his seat. Shacklebolt straightened, obviously ready to move on. "Now, I'd like to fill you in on why you're here before our visitor arrives. He should be here any moment."

Mafalda and Hermione leaned forward to listen intently; Slughorn appeared vaguely aware he was supposed to be in a meeting.

"As I'm sure you're aware, yesterday was the six year anniversary of the deaths of Astoria Malfoy and Scorpius Malfoy." His authoritative voice rang in Hermione's ears as she mentally berated herself for not putting the obvious clues together. Of course this was about Malfoy. She cursed under her breath and started scribbling notes, trying to look efficient.

"I've called you three here because you were present at the time Draco Malfoy gave his statement regarding the discovery of their bodies. I believe you will be the most sensitive to what he's endured. I realize the case has gone cold, and that it was assigned to Seamus Finnigan's team not long after the killings, but as you know, Mr. Malfoy has been continuing the investigation on his own. I have discouraged this, but he is financially capable of pursuing his own leads, and he was quite…insistent that he do so." Shacklebolt paused, seemingly caught up in a dark memory.

"Sir, if I may," Mafalda interjected, "I have not seen Mr. Malfoy since that day. I've only kept up with the case as the Prophet prints it, and Merlin knows how much of that is true. I don't know what help I can offer," she finished lamely, cutting her eyes sideways at Hermione, and then Slughorn.

"I understand your concern, Mafalda. But trust my judgment, if you will. Mr. Malfoy and I have been meeting one Monday each month since, and he's rarely brought good news. I feel, today, more than help with this case, he needs encouragement. Support."

Hermione felt her eyes narrow. Support? What kind of support? Mafalda barely knew Malfoy. Hermione had loathed him in school, and had hardly seen him since the war. And Slughorn was…Slughorn.

"Kingsley," Hermione said, using his first name to let him know she intended to be frank. "You can tell us what it is you really want. You want Malfoy to relive the day he came in here. You're hoping he'll reiterate his statement and remember something he's forgotten." Her eyes widened as she came to her own realization. "Or…you're hoping he'll remember it differently. Make a mistake."

Hermione felt Slughorn perk up beside her. Mafalda's jaw dropped.

Shacklebolt didn't speak, but his mouth twisted just to confirm what Hermione had said.

"It only makes sense!" Slughorn said suddenly. "There've been so few clues, and so many dead-ends, because Draco Malfoy is somehow involved. Did you know, a dear friend of mine who works for Malfoy Enterprises told me that Mr. Malfoy spent several months in St. Mungo's after the killings? Went completely mental, he did! Maybe he had a guilty conscience?" Slughorn began to nearly glow with each new accusation, almost with pride. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"There were witnesses who confirmed he was in his office at the time of their deaths," Hermione droned, "and he was checked for Polyjuice Potion immediately afterward, before you suggest it." She was losing her patience. Clearly Slughorn had forgotten the few legitimate details of the case that every wizard and witch with a brain knew. Like the fact that no traces of magic were detected at the crime scene, that the victims hadn't been killed by magic, and that the killer left his signature, confirmed to be genuine. And that it belonged to a Muggle serial killer who was also highly sought-after by Muggle police.

"That is true, Miss Granger. We have no solid reason to suspect Mr. Malfoy's involvement. But Horace is quite right, unfortunately. With so little to go on, our best course of action is to retrace our steps from the beginning. That starts with Mr. Malfoy, and it goes beyond today. I'd like to make a suggestion that could-"

A knock at the door hushed the room.

"Sweet Merlin, it's him," Mafalda squeaked, gripping the arms of her chair tightly.

"Come in, please," Shacklebolt called.

The door opened, and Draco Malfoy stepped inside, looking haggard at worst, haunted at best.

His eyes focused first on Shacklebolt. Draco acknowledged him with a nod, then glanced at the other three in the room.

He recognized Mafalda, Hermione could tell. And obviously Slughorn. Then his cold, stormy silver eyes found hers, and she couldn't breathe. Two years since she'd looked directly into them, and they were just as empty as they'd ever been. In that moment, any resentment or nagging thought of Draco tormenting her at Hogwarts fled her mind. Here was a person who had lost everything, who hadn't given up, but she thought perhaps he could at any moment. Selfishly, she hoped this would not be that moment. She was already uncomfortable just being near to someone so achingly miserable.

Whereas she had lost relatively little in the war, and nothing since. She'd only gained, improved.

Draco Malfoy made her feel guilty. His hard stare made her wonder if he was doing it on purpose, like he blamed her for not finding his family's killer. Maybe she blamed herself.

Then his eyes left hers and she felt a little warmer.

"Minister," Malfoy said, quickly taking the seat opposite Mafalda. "I do have an update. I have gathered sufficient evidence to prove Blaise Zabini was in no way involved with my wife and son's murder."

Hermione nearly flinched. 'Murder.' Of course it was a word she was well familiar with, but Malfoy had nearly spat it. He said it so coldly, in such a detached way. She and Mafalda always referred to Astoria and Scorpius's deaths as 'the killings' or 'the incident'…but 'murder' brought back images of the blood, and the killer's symbol on the wall, and the eerie absence of spring that day.

Shacklebolt looked taken aback.

"That…is progress, Draco. I know you were concerned about Mr. Zabini. Is there more you'd like to tell us?" He asked gently, and Hermione thought for a moment he would reach out and place a comforting hand on Malfoy's shoulder, but he didn't. She watched Malfoy, who suddenly looked as mortified as she imagined a Malfoy could.

"No. That's…all. That's all I've learned in the last month. One name scratched off the list."

Hermione wasn't sure, but she thought he was only talking to himself.

"Right. Well, I'll get right to it, then," Shacklebolt said, squaring his shoulders and placing one hand on the table, fingers spread over the folder before him.

"This is everything we have on your family's case. I've been assured by Auror Finnigan that there is nothing else. I realize it's not much, but it's all I have to give you." He slid the red folder toward Malfoy, who eyed it with hungry curiosity and painful reserve. He reached one pale hand out to touch it, but withdrew his fingertips at the last moment.

"Why are you giving me this now?" he asked suddenly. "I've been begging for this information for years. I was told it was classified. What's changed? Are-" his eyes grew wide and frantic, "-are you giving up?"

Hermione didn't know what possessed her, but she heard her voice before she realized she had spoken.

"No. We will never give up. That's not what we do here." Her heart began to pound in her chest. The room was so quiet, she knew everyone could hear it.

Shacklebolt inclined his head, keeping his gaze on the folder.

"She's right. But I won't pretend we're close to a resolution. I'm reassigning the case. Hopefully fresh eyes will uncover what we've been missing."

"Reassigning the case, Sir?" Mafalda murmured. "To whom?"

"Are you bringing in Muggles?" asked Slughorn. "Perhaps a collaboration-"

"No. I cannot put additional Muggles in danger with this. They're investigating other murders by the same killer. Their hands are just as full as ours." He paused, then turned to Hermione. "Your team is short, is it not? You've told me there's been a struggle with other cases recently."

Hermione nodded. "Yes. We've looked at hiring a dozen different applicants, but no one has fit the bill. None of them scored highly enough on their field tests." Just seconds later, it dawned on her what Shacklebolt was getting at, and a film played before her eyes showing just how disastrous it would be for everyone involved, should his plan be put into motion.

Malfoy seemed to catch on at the same time, but his reaction was much different.

"Yes. I'll do it. I'll start today."

"Excellent. Of course, you'll just be a consultant on the case. I can't grant you all the responsibilities of an Auror. There's a good deal of paperwork you'll have to sign-"

"Wait, Minister. Are you…certain about this? Mr. Malfoy is very…intelligent, I'm aware," she said with a wince, feeling terribly awkward, "but he's not and has never been an Auror. And this is a high profile case."

"I've thought this through, Miss Granger. I have every confidence in Mr. Malfoy. It's not a matter of public record, but he was on his way to becoming an Auror once. You'll be pleased to know he passed his field tests," Shacklebolt said with a crooked grin. Hermione blushed.

"Why didn't you continue?" Mafalda asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

Malfoy deadpanned, the excitement on his features dulled to nothing. "My family was murdered. I wanted my own kind of justice. The Ministry would not have approved." He frowned, and his cold eyes found Hermione again. Her breath caught in her throat. Malfoy spoke again, sounding strangled, but not weak. If anything, he sounded more sure of himself than ever. "But now, I'd settle for any kind of justice. I just want the fucking bastard caught. I want him…to never see the light of day again. I want him to die in the dark, like they did."

She didn't know why, couldn't put her finger on the reason, but Hermione didn't believe him.

No one spoke for several long, heavy minutes. Hermione watched Malfoy's face the entire time. He never looked away from her. He was determined. Confident. He would not leave this office without being on a team of Aurors. Her team.

Pity surged through her again. Then, starting somewhere in her throat, a tiny bubble of hope formed. Hope that her team could be the one to catch a vicious serial killer, avenge so many innocent lives. Malfoy's insight, his connections and intelligence would be a monumental addition to the team. She would be lying if she said catching the killer wouldn't help assuage some of her own personal guilt that he'd gotten away so many times. And perhaps they could help this man who had lost so much in a time of expected peace. He was so broken that in one moment he seemed utterly beyond help, but in this moment now, he looked just as assured of himself as ever. He'd been given a new purpose, and there was no doubt he was going to run with it until there was no where left to take it.

"Miss Granger," Shacklebolt finally said, "while I do feel this will be a mutually beneficial partnership, I will not approve it without your consent. It comes down to whether you feel you can take on this case and the additional responsibility of Mr. Malfoy's wellbeing, should things become dangerous. I know you're aware that while a Muggle may be the killer, it's doubtful that a witch or wizard isn't helping him in some way."

While he spoke, Malfoy still remained focused on her eyes, boring into them with his own. He would make her life hell if she didn't agree. He would make her life hell even if she did.

Hermione closed her eyes tight and took a deep, slow breath.

"Okay." It was barely a whisper, but it was out there. Mafalda gasped. Slughorn shifted in his seat again.

Disbelief flashed across Malfoy's face, but it was gone in a moment, replaced with a smug smirk.

"Well, then, Mr. Malfoy," Shacklebolt said, standing up and extending a hand. "Welcome to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." He turned to Mafalda and Slughorn. "Ms. Hopkirk…Mr. Slughorn…if you'll come with me, please."

Malfoy stood from his seat, still smirking like a cat who'd caught a particularly juicy canary.

"Thank you for this, Minister," he said, with more emotion than showed on his face. "You won't regret this."

"See that I don't," Shacklebolt said firmly, then followed behind Mafalda and Slughorn as they left the room, casting questioning glances behind them. Hermione began to rise from her chair also, and Shacklebolt grinned at her.

"Sir, is there anything more you need from me today?" Hermione asked, hoping to escape to her office with coffee and a potion to soothe her aching head. But then she took in Shacklebolt's expression and all thoughts of a nice, quiet morning went out of her mind. He looked too pleased with himself when he spoke.

"Mr. Malfoy…why don't you spend some time today getting reacquainted with Miss Granger? If you're to be working together, you need to establish a professional relationship as soon as possible." He winked and quickly left the room, in more of a hurry than Hermione had ever seen him. She narrowed her eyes at his back as he fled.

"Well, Granger," Malfoy started, placing both hands on the table and smirking at her. "What shall I call you? Granger? Ma'am? Is 'Hermione' inappropriate?"

A thought crossed her mind at that instant, and Hermione felt her own lips curl into a taunting grin. She folded her arms across her chest and looked directly into his eyes.

"You can call me 'Boss.'"

-:-

Read and review, pleeeease.


	2. Silver Eyed Solution

**A/N:** I have to admit, I didn't get the response to this that I'd hoped for, but that's okay! So far I still feel excited about this story, and I'll keep writing it for the lovely people who requested I update :)

I replied to all of you personally, but thanks to each of my reviewers again for taking the time to let me know your thoughts!

Please consider sharing your opinion again :)

Also, sorry for any mistakes. I don't have a beta!

 **Chapter 2**

Despite what Shacklebolt had said about building a professional relationship straight away, Hermione determined she needed some time to think, and she did her best thinking when completely alone. So she'd shown Malfoy to a desk next to Luna Lovegood's. After reintroducing the two, as her blasted manners demanded, and explaining the outcome of the meeting with Shacklebolt to Luna, she returned to her office seeking peace and quiet.

"Oh, Luna, before I forget," she said with her hand on the doorknob, "when you see Neville and Oliver, please send them to my office so I can fill them in." She looked sideways at Malfoy and Luna nodded in understanding.

Malfoy had been more than happy to cut their reunion short. He'd been eyeing the red folder since Shacklebolt had offered it to him, and Hermione knew he was dying to sink his teeth into it. She reminded him the folder was not to leave the Ministry, magically copied its contents for her perusal (she would be damned if he knew anything before she did), and left Malfoy to his own devices.

As soon as her office door was shut behind her, Hermione dropped the copied folder onto her desk and sank heavily into her chair, arms flung outward across the armrests. She blew a stray strand of frizzy hair away from her face.

"What a day. And it's not even lunch," she murmured to herself.

She reached out her right hand to open the folder and paused, biting her lip. This was it. Once she read these parchments, she was privy to confidential information concerning one of the highest profile cases the department had seen during her time here. She would be leading the investigation into the deaths of Draco Malfoy's family and twelve others, Muggles included. And Malfoy would be there every step of the way, telling her how she should conduct the whole thing.

The magnitude of what had transpired in that meeting suddenly engulfed her and her hand froze on her desk. A million thoughts and questions surged through her.

How would she catch a killer who never made mistakes?

Someone likely not acting alone?

Someone who had managed to elude Aurors and muggle detectives for over seven years?

And how would she do all this while also trying to control a massively wealthy, cunning wizard with personal connections to the dark underbelly of the Wizarding World?

Self-doubt began to trickle into her veins. Every muscle tensed as she hastily flipped open the folder and leaned forward to examine the top page. She'd done it. With this small act, she'd really done herself in.

Then she thought of Malfoy at the beginning of the meeting. He'd been a shadow of his former self, the happy, charming man he'd been before his family had been killed. She'd felt a desperate desire to help him, to avenge his wife and son. She was sure her mind was comparing his tragedy to Harry's, and that fueled her resolve.

Then her traitorous mind reminded her how quickly he'd slipped back into his smug, Slytherin-esque Malfoy mask the moment he'd been propositioned by the Minister, and she wondered just how much of a fool she'd been taken for.

-:-

Draco quickly decided he was still not fond of Loony Lovegood.

For years he had begged to read this information, tried bribing highly-ranked Ministry officials to get his hands on it, and now he couldn't take it in properly, thanks to her incessant humming. And if she wasn't humming, she was outright talking to herself about Nargle nonsense, all while her quill scratched notes on the paperwork on her desk.

It would have to stop.

"Lovegood, would you be so kind as to see if Granger needs anything? I'm all set here." He gestured to the obviously important work in front of him, and Lovegood merely looked at him with eyes that were apologetic and slightly unfocused.

"I'm sorry. I'm annoying you. I don't mean to be a bother; I just enjoy my work, you see."

"That's…nice," he said lamely. Then an idea dawned on him. "You know, forget what I said. This has been your workspace longer than it's been mine. I'll find an empty office somewhere to read, and you can sing every ballad you know if you'd like."

"If you think that will help you concentrate," Luna said, shrugging. She looked around at the empty desks surrounding them; Junior Aurors and trainees such as herself used these. Around the border of the room, individual Auror offices were separated from each other and the center room by panes of glass. There was no privacy whatsoever. Draco wondered for a moment if this was just a design statement or if it was intentional. He noticed, with begrudging approval, that Granger had used some sort of Cloaking Charm to cloud the glass surrounding her office, making it entirely opaque. Luna pointed to a small office behind him. "You can use that one. It's Neville's, and he's out on an errand at the moment. I'm sure he won't mind." She smiled, looking totally oblivious to Draco's discomfort, but he eerily felt that she was looking through him somehow. The idea was insane, though, so he only nodded and stood to go into Longbottom's office, clutching the red folder.

"You're right. I'm sure he won't mind at all." He was nearly inside when he said, "Just in case though…it might be a good idea to warn him before he sees me." The image of a flabbergasted Neville Longbottom brought a rare grin to his face. He might have imagined it, but he thought Lovegood smiled a little wider, too.

Once inside, he immediately locked the door with his wand and cast a Silencing Charm on the room. Further interruptions would not be tolerated.

Draco's eyes wandered briefly around the small space, taking in the many bits of Gryffindor memorabilia, the smiling portraits of Neville with his friends from Hogwarts, and the large space on the wall littered with pieces of parchment and cards, reminders of various appointments and tasks. It was drastically different from Draco's neat, monochromatic office at his own company, and he felt a swell of superiority that Draco was obviously the neater, more organized wizard. He waved his wand over Neville's cushioned chair to Scourgify the material and helped himself to the seat.

Oh, he would be getting himself one of these. It did marvelous things to his lower back.

Draco eagerly spread the contents of the folder across Neville's desk, and his eyes began to devour every inch of the pages.

-:-

As soon as she had organized each item in the folder the way she wanted, Hermione delved back into the case. Every photo was laid out in the order they'd been taken. Beneath each one was the parchment that described the photo. In her hands she held the thick sheave that detailed several things: all of the Malfoy's' movements leading up to the crime, including Draco's; a general interpretation of the evidence; a reconstruction of the crime itself, and Draco Malfoy's official statement. That last one she was quite familiar with.

She glanced over the pictures, each one sweeping around a small area of the crime scene before repeating itself. In a few of them, she could see the killer's mark, left in blood on a wall: the eloquently written initials 'E.G.' A close up shot of the letters showed a small droplet of blood dripping down the wall below the letter 'G.' It had later been determined to belong to Astoria Malfoy. In the photograph, it rolled down the wall only a few centimeters, nearly congealed, then the loop began again, and the droplet was closer to the letter above it. Hermione stared at it with her lips in a hard line. It was the most morbidly mesmerizing thing she'd seen in years as an Auror.

When she saw the photos of the Malfoy's' five-year-old son, she studied them carefully, absorbing as much information as she could so she wouldn't have to look at them again unless absolutely necessary. Dead children always affected her, though she'd seen more than her fair share. A war against a dark wizard and her career choice had seen to that.

She tried not to notice the peaceful expression on Scorpius Malfoy's face. His eyes were closed, as though he was sleeping, and only the pallor of his complexion gave any indication that he was dead. He'd been smothered in his sleep, and Hermione thanked God he hadn't suffered.

Astoria, however, hadn't been so lucky.

Her once sharp green eyes stared endlessly at nothing. A deep slice across her throat had oozed blood all around her face, clotting in her brunette hair, making it look almost black. Her lips were parted with a final gasp, and bloodied teeth were just visible between them. All the blood had fanned out in a grotesque halo around her, faintly shining from the lights of the cameras.

Her legs were curled awkwardly beneath her; one arm stretched out to the side. The hand on her other arm rested lightly on her chest, just beneath her neck, as though she'd been clutching it before she'd died. There was bruising at her temple, and scrapes on her palms and knees, but she hadn't been sexually assaulted. Her clothes were intact, save for a tear near the hem of her emerald green robes. Hermione squeezed her eyes tightly shut, feeling awful for thinking momentarily that Astoria had at least been lucky in that respect. She had been a famously beautiful witch, and sexual assault had been the suspected motive until the initials on the wall were proven to be genuine. This particular serial killer wasn't known to rape his victims.

Briefly, Hermione was glad the child had died first. He hadn't had to witness his mother's torture and death. And perhaps, she thought darkly, that had made succumbing to the darkness a little less terrifying in Astoria's final moments; she'd known she would be with her child soon.

Hermione swallowed thickly and leaned back in her chair, releasing a shaking breath.

The only living member of this murdered family was just steps away from her right at that moment, and he was-

"Oh, shit!" Hermione whined, jerking out of her seat so quickly it sent paperwork flying, her chair spinning back behind her. She hastily waved her wand over the items on her desk, sending them flying back into the folder. She nearly lunged for her office door, her leg bumping painfully into the corner of her desk. Throwing herself out into the open area, she sprinted over to the blonde Junior Auror.

"Luna! Where is Malfoy?" She asked breathlessly, her eyes darting all across the room. Mafalda Hopkirk gave her a weak smile from her corner office, still looking strained from the events of the morning meeting. And she hadn't even seen the pictures.

"He's in Neville's office. Is that okay? Neville hasn't seen him yet. He popped out a bit ago to owl some documents-" Luna kept talking, totally oblivious to the way Hermione had ran for Neville's door, subconsciously noticing Malfoy had made the glass opaque as she had; she seized the doorknob, and twisted it in the blink of an eye.

Locked, of course.

Withdrawing her wand and aiming it at the knob, the breathless Auror muttered a quick "Alohomora" and pushed her way inside as soon as the door gave in.

Her eyes locked onto Malfoy's immediately. She didn't know what she had expected to find, but he merely looked perturbed at the interruption. His left eyebrow arched close to his hairline, and his mouth was twisted in aggravation. Hermione furtively glanced at Malfoy's desk and was so relieved not to see the photographs that she felt dizzy. She collapsed into the rickety chair in the corner of Neville's cramped office and blew out a heavy breath.

Malfoy was silent for a moment, studying her intently. Hermione forced herself to breathe normally and straightened in the chair.

"Well, I'll spare you the small talk. I assume you're here about these."

Malfoy collected a stack of thick parchment from beneath the rest, the glossy sheen giving away what they were, and Hermione froze. Malfoy dropped them before her. The pictures were just the same as the ones in her office. The one on top displayed the killer's initials in all their gruesome glory.

"You...saw these? And you're okay?" she asked, biting her lip. She wasn't sure what compelled her to act so unprofessionally. She was far from Malfoy's friend. But no one should have to see their family slaughtered. For a moment, she cursed Kingsley for not thinking to keep the pictures out of the folder he gave to Malfoy.

"Of course I am," he said abruptly. "Why wouldn't I be? They're blank pieces of parchment." He waved his hand at them dismissively.

"Blank?" Hermione questioned, looking again and feeling confused. Then, a light dawned. "Kingsley charmed them so you can't see the photographs."

"Right you are, Granger," Draco said, revealing he knew exactly what they were. "The bloody git swore I would have all the information and he's hidden half of it from me!" He ran a shaking hand through his platinum hair, taking the photos back and staring at them, willing them to make their images visible.

"I...don't think he's keeping it from you out of spite, Malfoy-"

"I know what he's doing. He thinks I can't handle it. That I'll have a fucking breakdown if I have to relive this." He stood up suddenly, stabbing into the stack of photos with one long, pale finger. "As if I don't already relive this every fucking day. Who do you think found them? Before all the cameras and the Aurors and the reporters showed up? They were left there specifically for me to find. Does Shacklebolt think I just closed my eyes and didn't look?" He was nearly yelling at the end, and Hermione felt another surge of pity, and a twinge of fear. At that instant, Draco Malfoy looked undeniably capable of murder. But then, she'd known he'd never planned to see his family's killer locked away in Azkaban. She was sure his plans were much darker, more permanent than a life sentence. "And if he's hiding pictures from me, imagine what else he's kept out of this file-"

"I'll...talk to Kingsley about this, Malfoy. Perhaps he isn't prepared to give you all the information at once until he sees what you'll do with the details you do have."

"Don't try to spare my feelings, Granger. You and Shacklebolt think I can't handle this. You think I'll end up back in St. Mungo's, strapped to a bed and talking to myself. Admit it." He leaned across the desk toward her, his eyes full of anger. But she sensed desperation too. Her own brown eyes grew wide at his revelation.

"So that really happened? You were hospitalized?"

He drew back slightly, confusion wrinkling his brow.

"You...didn't know?"

"I'd heard rumors, but I assumed the Prophet was just trying to sell more issues."

"Well..." Malfoy sighed, running his hand through his hair again, obviously wishing he hadn't spoken. Hermione tried to smile at him. She managed a wince.

"It's in the past now. That was years ago. You've had time to realize your goal is more important than your pain." Malfoy looked up at her, briefly showing his disbelief, before relaxing his features into their usual calm, unaffected expression.

"Then you'll get Shacklebolt to remove the enchantment," he said, rather than asked.

Hermione shook her head.

"I don't have the authority to remove it myself, and Kingsley makes his own decisions. I can appeal to him, but he rarely changes his positions." She half expected him to get angry again, but he simply nodded once, then picked up the photos as he sank into Neville's chair again.

"What would I have to do to get him to allow me access to all the information?" Malfoy deadpanned, looking ready to do anything.

Hermione looked away, casting her gaze around Neville's office, focusing on anything other than Malfoy's stormy grey eyes.

"As I said, I imagine he wants you to prove your capabilities. And also your value to the team. This is supposed to be a mutual partnership, after all."

"And how am I supposed to do that, Granger?"

Just as Hermione opened her mouth to speak, there was a knock at the door. Malfoy shut his eyes tightly and sighed. He squeezed his head between his hands, then once again squared his shoulders and sat up a bit straighter, and Hermione nearly forgot how tense their conversation had been.

"Come in, already."

Luna pushed open the door and stuck her head in.

"I'm sorry, Boss, but there's a new case. Mafalda took the owl. She said it has to do with a famous judge for the Wizengamot?" Luna looked down at the note in her hand. "Judge Henry Walledge. He requested the best Aurors look into a personal matter as soon as possible. Shacklebolt says that's us!" the blonde said, more animated than Hermione was used to seeing her.

She glanced over at Malfoy, who was watching Luna with narrowed eyes. He would no doubt see this case as a distraction from the one in front of him, and he would definitely put up a fight when she explained that he was hired as a consultant on all cases, not just his family's. Hermione had dreaded this conversation from the moment Kingsley had mentioned a 'mutually beneficial partnership.' And the time to have it had come so soon.

Malfoy slowly seemed to realize Hermione was staring at him, and his eyes dragged to hers. He folded his arms across his chest and sneered.

"No. I have more important things to do."

"I'm sorry, but this is the job. This team doesn't work on one case at a time until it's solved. We give any case that comes to us our best effort, always. We usually deal with homicides and serious crimes…" Hermione ignored Malfoy's seething face and found Luna's again. "Did Walledge mention the nature of this 'personal matter?'"

"Oh yes!" Luna beamed. "His daughter's fiance was murdered last night. Dreadful timing, isn't it?" she grinned at both of them, waiting for a response. Hermione could feel Malfoy rolling his eyes. "Oh! Hermione, Oliver and Neville are in your office."

Right, Hermione thought. Another painful conversation in her immediate future.

"Thank you, Luna. I'll be there in a moment."

As soon as Luna had gone, shutting the door behind her, Malfoy rounded on Hermione.

"I don't have the time or the patience to waste on some rich Wizard's personal misfortune. I have my priorities, and his request doesn't even make the list," he said through clenched teeth, glaring at her.

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Well, you're lucky I've decided to use my time to help with 'some rich Wizard's personal misfortune' or I'd never have agreed to this arrangement with you." It came out harsher than she'd intended, but Malfoy needed to know where the boundaries were. No amount of pity on earth would convince her to let him walk all over her.

Malfoy sat in stony silence, shooting daggers at her. Hermione stared right back. His expression took her back to their days at Hogwarts, when he'd been a much different person. Well, somewhat different. Obviously his arrogance and disdain for her had remained.

"If you're not going to say anything, I'm going back to my office. I need to explain this ridiculous experiment to the rest of my team. Don't even think about leaving the Ministry with that folder, either. Everything in it is charmed to disintegrate if you try to take it with you." Hermione stood from the chair, her legs heavy. Already this day had exhausted her, and her stomach was starting to demand food.

"You think I'm leaving?" Malfoy asked curiously. The anger was gone from his voice. "I don't think you understand. As much as we may not like this, I'm in it for good, until I've caught my family's killer. You can't catch him without me, nor I without you. Deal with it, Granger." His smug expression was back and Hermione wanted to hit him.

"No, you deal with it Malfoy. Like it or not, you work for me, and I'm telling you to be ready to leave in ten minutes. We have a case. And who knows, maybe if you solve it before the weekend, Kingsley will reconsider the enchantment on your family's file."

That grabbed his attention. In that instant, Hermione knew he'd seen the light. Of course, solving this case for Walledge would be a means to an end for him, but if it got results, she didn't care.

Malfoy slowly nodded in consent. "Ten minutes."

-:-

"Oliver, Neville. There's been a development with the Elias Grey case."

The wizards looked interested as they watched Hermione sink into her chair, but confused as well. They were rarely called into her office for anything, much less over a case that belonged to a different unit.

"Is it good news? Merlin, I hope so," Neville said with a nervous edge to his voice. "Seamus has been driven near to madness with the lack of progress."

"I don't envy his team. Two of them practically survive on Firewhiskey," Oliver Wood said, one eyebrow raised in distaste. Neville nodded in agreement.

Hermione steeled her resolve. She'd known her team might perceive this as more of a misfortune than an opportunity. Her face must've given her reluctance away, because Neville leaned forward, his knuckles turning white as his hands balled into fists.

"He hasn't killed again, has he? It's been years! Wasn't Draco Malfoy's family the last-"

"Well? Is that the development, Boss?" Oliver interjected, always straight to the point.

"Er, no," Hermione winced, regretting this decision all over again. "The development is…the case is changing hands. It's ours now. We are to begin working on it immediately. Furthermore, Kingsley has enlisted Draco Malfoy to help us. I'm sure you've read about his personal investigation into this-"

"He's spent a fortune. Has unlimited resources. Still hasn't caught the bastard." Oliver relaxed further into his chair, looking unfazed.

"Right! Hermione, how exactly are we supposed to make any progress when Draco Malfoy can't? This is going to be a disaster!" Neville exclaimed, looking worried as Hermione had ever seen him. She understood his fear of abysmal failure, but it was her job to reign in her fear.

"The case has been cold for a while, that's true…but Malfoy has made some progress on his own. It isn't much, but it's something. And Finnegan has provided us with everything we need to get started. I'll need you both to take a look at this," she said, holding up the case file, "once I'm finished with it. With all of us working together, we're bound to turn up something. Let's give this a chance. I believe in our abilities. And no one will be more dedicated than Malfoy. It can only go up from here." Hermione smiled thinly and hoped she wasn't as transparent as she felt.

"I'm in," Oliver quipped, then glanced at his watch, a gift from Hermione at their last office Christmas party. "It's time for lunch. You want anything, Boss?" Hermione shook her head.

"We actually have a case. We'll have to grab a bite on the way. And...Malfoy will be coming with us."

Oliver nodded, already standing up and moving to the door. Neville's mouth was hanging open.

"I-I guess if you think this is a good thing, Hermione…I…trust your judgment," Neville said seriously, but his eyes still looked concerned. "I hope Shacklebolt has thought this through." He paused, looking away, and struggled to get his next words out. "I know all the papers say Malfoy has changed, but…I still remember him for what he used to be. I'm not sure how long it'll be before I am…before I can trust him." His eyes finally found Hermione's again, and she gave him a soft smile.

"You don't have to trust him, Neville," she said quietly, glancing at her red folder again. "You just have to trust that he wants justice for his family."

"That's the thing, Hermione…I'm not sure I don't believe he wasn't involved somehow. Do you think-do you think it's possible?" he questioned eagerly, and Hermione immediately shook her head.

"No. Before I saw him today, I'd have said yes. But now…" she swallowed, glancing between Oliver and Neville, two of the best Aurors she'd ever known, and suddenly was overcome with relief. They could do this. They could catch Elias Grey. The three of them, and Luna, and Malfoy. She took a deep breath, realizing she'd known from the moment she'd seen Malfoy on that horrible night years ago that she had never once truly suspected him.

"Boss? You okay?" Oliver's voice broke through the hellish memory. Hermione blinked.

"I'm fine. We've got work to do. Let's get started."

-:-

It had been closer to fifteen minutes before Hermione's team had been filled in on the situation, courtesy of information Luna had gleaned from the first team of investigators to arrive to the crime scene.

Thirty-two year old Deacon Candor, a Muggle-born, had been killed the night before in the hallway outside his office at Walledge, Whitford and Hendricks, a law office famous for getting their likely guilty clients out of prison time. It was a prestigious firm with top-of-the-line security measures. Candor had been found by a night security Squib, sprawled in a heap with no signs of a wound.

He'd been engaged to the daughter of Judge Henry Walledge, a member of the Wizengamot. Walledge had taken Candor under his wing, and Candor had quickly risen through the ranks of solicitors at the firm. Lately, though, he'd been winning fewer cases, and it seemed plausible that an unhappy client had exacted revenge.

Hermione assigned duties and everyone dispersed to follow their own leads.

Luna and Neville Apparated to search Candor's flat for clues.

Hermione resigned herself to working with Malfoy so she could keep an eye on him.

Oliver was instructed to talk to the owner of a pub the victim frequented in downtown London. On his way down to the lobby, he pulled Hermione away from Malfoy until they were out of earshot.

"He gives you any trouble, you send for me straight away. I know you can handle yourself, but don't underestimate him." He glanced over her shoulder at Malfoy. "I don't believe for one second that he'll follow the rules."

"I know," Hermione sighed, "but I've agreed to take this on. Maybe it won't be as bad as we expect." It sounded weak, and she knew it. Oliver raised an eyebrow.

"If he's more harm than help, he should be sent on his way."

"I agree," she said firmly. "Wait a minute, who's the Senior Auror here?"

"Actually, I am, but I've been told I'm better at following." He deadpanned and Hermione swallowed a chuckle.

"Excellent at it. Get going."

"Yes, Boss."

Oliver walked away, never giving a backward glance, but Hermione felt a little better knowing he had her back. Even if it sort of took away from his claim that he knew she was capable of handling herself.

"What was that all about," Malfoy inquired right by her ear.

"Ah! You scared me," she accused, whirling on him. "Don't do that. It's probably not the best idea to sneak up on an Auror."

Malfoy quirked an eyebrow, lowering his gaze to her drawn wand, poking hard against his chest.

"Point taken. Wood telling you not to trust me?" he said, not letting her see him relax when she stored her wand back inside her robes.

"Of course. He's just looking out for me."

"You say that like you resent it," he observed, smirking. "Your eyebrows knit together and you look like you've eaten a questionable Bertie Botts Every Flavour Bean."

"I-I don't resent anything. He's a good friend. I appreciate his concern, but I'm not afraid of you." Her voice sounded strong and brave, her Gryffindor colors shining through. She smirked back at him.

Malfoy looked like he wanted to say something else, then thought better of it. His expression changed as he suddenly moved the conversation back to the case.

"I'd like to speak directly with the victims in the Candor case. It's usually a close relative or friend who offs you."

Hermione put her hands on her hips. He'd certainly changed his mind about helping.

"This is a murder investigation. Deacon Candor is the victim."

"Are you implying that a violent crime has no effect on anyone but the obvious prey? An odd opinion for an Auror, isn't it?"

"I'm not denying his death won't have far-reaching effects on his loved ones, Malfoy. But the crime is murder, and he's the only one who's dead." She smoothed the front of her robes and looked up at him in earnest. "But I'd planned to talk to the family first anyway. Not because it's your idea, of course. It's standard procedure." She turned on her heel and started for the elevator that would take them down to the lobby.

"Of course," Malfoy smirked at her back.

"Oh, Mafalda!" Hermione called to her colleague as she passed her office. "If I'm not back by five o'clock, would you mind stopping by my house on your way home and checking on my cat? He likes to go outside at that time. Just open the rear door and he'll run right out."

"Sure, Hermione. Crooks is such a sweet boy," Mafalda said with a wary smile at them both. Malfoy flashed a charming grin at her, but it only seemed to make her more uncomfortable.

"Thank you," Hermione beamed. They resumed their walk to the elevator, and just as the doors opened to let them inside, Malfoy snorted. "What is it now?" Hermione asked impatiently. They stepped onto the lift and Hermione avoided looking at him as she pressed the button for the lobby. Just as the doors closed, Malfoy chuckled, talking to himself under his breath.

"I just can't believe that bloody cat is still alive."

-:-

Please read and review :)

 **Next chapter:** Draco's first time working with the Aurors. Also, a clue about his family's killer.


	3. Not All Is Black And White

**A/N:** Thanks so much to everyone who favorited, followed, and ESPECIALLY reviewed! Happy 4th of July!

Please forgive grammatical errors. Still no beta.

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

Before paying a visit to Deacon Candor's fiance and her father, Hermione convinced Malfoy to stop by the crime scene. She wasn't sure, but he seemed reluctant, and she realized he likely hadn't seen one since he'd walked in on his murdered family.

Regardless of Malfoy's reservations, Hermione was a stickler for procedure, and even though the scene had already been evaluated by a team of Junior Aurors, she would be remiss if she didn't take a look at it for herself.

The face of Walledge, Whitford and Hendricks was cold and foreboding, its shimmering black surface towering over the buildings around it. It was just a few blocks from Gringotts and near a small bistro where the smells of delicious food had been charmed to fill the area as strongly as if a person was sitting at one of the tables inside. The place was quite busy, so their manipulation was working.

Hermione's stomach growled as she looked up at the bold-lettered sign over the massive law office. Malfoy cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Hungry, Granger?"

She blushed.

"Well, it is past lunch. I forgot all about it," she shrugged, and made to open the door of the office building.

"Oh, come on. You can't solve a murder on an empty stomach. Do you think the others skipped lunch?" He snorted. "I saw the chocolate frog wrappers on Longbottom's desk. Doesn't strike me as the type to skip a meal."

Hermione sighed as her stomach groaned again. She was rather hungry, and the smells coming from the nearby restaurant was making her mouth water. She looked up at Malfoy, who read her expression in half a millisecond and grinned.

"I knew you'd see it my way."

"Fine," she sighed again. "But I want to check out the scene first, quickly. The commissioner said they're waiting on us to make our own assessment before they remove Candor's body. But I'm sure they've been thorough. This won't take long. Oh!" She exclaimed, her eyes widening. "I almost forgot. It's unlikely we will need it here, since the building is full of Aurors, but you'll need to familiarize yourself with this." She pulled a small metal ring with a green ball in the middle out of her pocket. It reminded Malfoy of one of his mother's prized pendants. "This is an Anti-Apparition device. To activate it, you spin the ball in the center. Like this."

Hermione rapidly raked her thumb across the green orb, causing it to glow a brighter neon color.

"This prevents anyone within a hundred meters of Apparating, from the point in which it is activated. Which means-"

"Even if you move the device, the warded area doesn't expand or move," Malfoy nodded. "That's interesting. Do I get one of my own?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I'll talk to Kingsley about it. But I doubt you'll need one, since I won't allow you to interview anyone without an escort. Neville and Wood both have their own." She showed Malfoy how to turn off the Anti-Apparition device and returned it to her pocket, then pulled open the door and stepped into the black and white lobby before Malfoy could protest.

"So, what happens when they realize they can't Apparate?"

Hermione shrugged.

"They usually run."

"And what do we do?"

"We chase them, Stun them, and bring them to the Ministry to be interviewed."

"You mean, running? There's running involved?" he whined. Hermione snickered.

"That's right. You can do it, Malfoy. A little cardio will do you good."

He followed behind her but grumbled under his breath. Hermione ignored him and marched across the polished white stone floor to the receptionist's modern desk. There was nothing on it but a small stack of parchment and quill for note taking, and a teacup-sized blue orb Hermione guessed was used to communicate quickly with others in the building.

The receptionist's name badge read "Tiffany." She was a shapely woman in her early twenties with perfectly groomed blonde hair and smoky makeup. She glanced up when Hermione approached her, smiling immediately.

"Hello," Tiffany greeted, gesturing to the Auror badge pinned to Hermione's robes. "Pleased to meet you, Senior Auror Granger. I'm Tiffany Swift." Then her eyes shifted to Malfoy and her mouth dropped open. "And you're-"

"The charming, intelligent half of this partnership," Malfoy interrupted, extending his hand across the desk to take Tiffany's left hand. He brought it close to his mouth and Hermione rolled her eyes, prepared to walk away if he started kissing it. "Draco Malfoy. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He brushed his lips against her hand, smirking.

"Likewise," Tiffany said, her voice flutteringly soft. "I mean-excuse me-" she straightened up in her chair and withdrew her hand, but she still eyed Malfoy with obvious interest. "They're expecting you on the fifteenth floor. Please find out what happened to Mr. Candor. He was one of the only wizards in this office who was ever kind to me." She blushed and dipped her head, grabbing a quill and scribbling a note on a small square of parchment.

"We'll avenge him, I promise you," Malfoy said, with such conviction Hermione stared. Tiffany offered the slip of paper to Malfoy across the desk, but Hermione snatched it before he could take it from her.

"What is this?" She asked, surprised it wasn't the woman's home address.

"The code to the lift. It's changed three times a day. We've combined Muggle technology and magic to deter intruders. We are very security-conscious here. Our clients value that...and it usually is very effective," she replied, all the while shifting her gaze between Hermione and Malfoy. Her eyes darkened significantly as she seemed to come to some conclusion Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Right. Just not so effective this time. Thanks. Come on, Malfoy." Normally, Hermione would've been impressed that such an old Wizarding establishment had incorporated Muggle technology, but for whatever reason, she was unusually agitated and just wanted to get this part of the job over with.

She walked away towards the lift, ignoring Tiffany's giggle as Malfoy said something apparently amusing.

When he finally joined her, and the doors had closed, Hermione sniffed derisively.

"We aren't here to flirt, Malfoy. We're here to solve a murder, okay? Can you keep it in your trousers for a few hours?" She rolled her eyes, making a point not to look at him. She punched the lift code into the panel on the wall and it began its ascension.

Malfoy chuckled.

"This is how it's done, Granger. When people think you have something they want, they tell you all kinds of things about themselves. Sometimes they don't even have to speak to tell you everything you need to know." He reached into his trouser pockets for a cigarette, but no sooner did he put it between his lips than Hermione knocked it away.

"You can't smoke in here," she warned, and returned his glare with her own. "And I don't see what you could have learned from three minutes of flirting."

"Plenty," he shrugged, looking up at the number display on the lift as they climbed closer to their destination.

"Oh, really? Enlighten me," she challenged, turning to face him and putting on her war face. It didn't have quite the effect she'd hoped; Malfoy was much taller than her, and his eyes were amused as he stared down at her.

"If you insist."

Malfoy reached toward the panel and mashed the "stop" button. The lift ground to a halt between the tenth and eleventh floors.

Hermione's heart began to race and her face felt hot. There she was, being unprofessional again.

"First, she's married, but doesn't wear her ring. When I took her hand, I noticed an indent on her fourth finger. She clearly spent far more time and money on her appearance than her job required, and her blouse and robes were undone just enough to be inappropriate for a law office. So, either she's recently divorced or having an affair, or she's looking to have an affair. Judging by how receptive she was to me, I'd say she's in the market for a new male friend," he smiled widely, but Hermione was annoyed that he seemed so pleased with himself. "She also doesn't care about her job. She had no personal items on her desk, no attachment to her workspace. Think of dear Longbottom's office, Granger. See what I'm talking about?"

"Even if that's true, how does that help us with this case?" She perched her balled fists on her hips, ignoring the niggling voice in her brain that was telling her Malfoy had noticed things about Tiffany that she hadn't.

Malfoy shrugged again.

"I don't know yet. Maybe it won't." He paused, and removed one hand from his trouser pocket to lazily punch the code into the lift's panel again, resuming their climb. "And for the record, Granger, you'll never meet a wizard better at 'keeping it in his trousers' than I. I haven't enjoyed that kind of company since my wife died, and have no desire to start up again."

All the blood drained from Hermione's face as mortification overtook her. Why in God's name had she said that! Her eyes drifted to his left hand, catching the glint of silver as the lift slowed to a stop.

It was common knowledge that Draco Malfoy had never removed his wedding ring. Of course, rumors and Prophet reporters claimed he was celibate since Astoria's death. This seemed credible, at least, since it would have been rather odd for him to date while wearing a symbol of eternal love and devotion to a dead woman. And now he'd confirmed the rumors to be true, and Hermione was at a loss for words. She found herself uncharacteristically impressed by the once death eater. How deeply he must have loved his wife to honor her memory in such a way, when (if she was being honest with herself) he could've had any witch he wanted.

"I...I'm so sorry, Malfoy. I'm..." She trailed off as the lift doors opened, revealing a long hallway lined with offices and several investigators hovering around.

"Merlin, it's not that serious, Granger. It's just sex. I'm sure you know all about extended periods of abstinence."

He slipped out of the lift, leaving her steaming mad behind him. She flung out her arm to stop the lift door from closing before she was able to get her bearings. Malfoy didn't look back; he approached the nearest constable to introduce himself.

-:-

One thing Hermione appreciated about the majority of criminal investigations was that one did not have to search very long before encountering someone who had their suspicions about the guilty party's identity.

This case was no different; the first team of Junior Aurors to evaluate the crime scene already had a name for her. They filled her in on what they'd learned since she'd last been updated. Candor had had at least one public verbal spat with another barrister at the firm; he and Mr. Marcus Greene were in contention for the top spot. They both had astronomically high success rates; they were so far ahead of their colleagues that most of the other lawyers had given up trying to match them.

Perhaps she'd be eating her lunch sooner than she'd thought.

Then she and Malfoy did a quick inspection of Candor's body, face-down just outside his own office door, and all thoughts of food evaporated into thin air. Malfoy entered Candor's office briefly, while Hermione was speaking with another Auror, and absorbed every detail he could. He paid close attention to a framed photograph, with embossed names at the bottom, of Deacon Candor with Judge Henry Walledge, shaking hands and smiling at the camera. The judge wasn't as old as Malfoy had imagined he'd be; he looked to be in his early fifties, with just a touch of gray in his hair. Another photograph showed Walledge using his wand to inscribe Candor's name on the plaque beside his new office door before shaking his hand again. Hermione joined Malfoy then and took a few moments to look over every spot where the Junior Aurors had marked evidence. There was only Candor's body and his wand, a few feet to his left.

She thanked her fellow Ministry comrades and continued a short distance down the hallway until she found the office she was looking for. She assumed Malfoy followed, but in her aggravation she sort of hoped he'd stopped to talk someone else's ear off.

"Well, are you going to knock, or shall we stand here in the hallway like bloody ridiculous portraits?"

Ah, no such luck.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the door and knocked twice; she heard a bit of shuffling inside the office before the door opened, revealing a slightly above average-looking man in an exquisitely tailored set of robes.

"Hello, Mr. Greene. I'm Senior Auror Hermione Granger with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. This is my associate Draco Malfoy. We need to ask you a few questions about Deacon Candor."

"Yes, of course! You may call me Marcus." He shook Hermione's hand, but both of Malfoy's were tucked inside his robes. Obviously on purpose. "Please come inside," he said solemnly, opening the door wider for them to enter. As they all took their seats, Hermione and Malfoy across from the man in question, he continued. "Such a shame about Deacon. Can't say I'm surprised, but it's still unfortunate news…he had a good head on his shoulders, that one."

Malfoy's chuckle caused Hermione's entire body to tense.

"When you say unfortunate news...you don't really mean that, clearly. You and Deacon were in direct competition. Just be honest. Expedites this whole process." Malfoy waved one hand dismissively as he absorbed every detail about Mr. Greene's office.

"I...don't believe I appreciate your implication, sir," Mr. Greene replied icily. Malfoy's steel gaze zeroed in on Mr. Green's dark brown eyes.

"I didn't mean for you to appreciate it."

"That's enough, Malfoy," Hermione said through her teeth. "Mr. Greene…er, Marcus...unfortunately my colleague has a point. We are here to speak with you because we've been informed there was bad blood between you and Mr. Candor."

Greene shook his head, his face serene.

"No bad blood whatsoever. That's a rumor. Deacon and I weren't mates, of course. And no, I wasn't fond of him. But I didn't kill the bloke." He said it as though the very idea was ridiculous and settled back further into his cushioned chair.

"Yes, well, I wish I could take your word for it, but it's my job to ask: Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts last night between six and nine o'clock?" Hermione leaned forward slightly, her knees pressed together. Malfoy stood from his chair and began circling around the office, touching and picking up items from shelves and bookcases without asking. Marcus Greene eyed him warily, his mouth twitching.

"Honestly, no. I went home alone at five yesterday evening. But I don't need an alibi. I'm innocent."

"Surely, you must know how ridiculous that sounds. You look good for it," Malfoy interrupted as he turned over a glass broom souvenir from a Chudley Cannons game. "The top two barristers at this firm, battling for that number one slot every day. Candor beating you, more often than not. I can see why you'd do it." He set the broom back in place on the shelf to Hermione's right, then picked up a framed certificate declaring Marcus Greene fit to practice Wizarding law. "Ooh, this is heavy."

Greene finally had had enough of the personal intrusion and stood abruptly, snatching the frame from Malfoy's hands and carefully placing it back where it had been. He didn't take his seat again.

"Yeah, you know what? I have work to do, so I'll put it all out there for you people. The guy was a joke. He didn't even want this job. He just took it to please his future father-in-law. Couldn't turn it down when old Walledge offered it to him. He wasn't even that good at it. Just saw a surge in popularity recently, what with his engagement to Walledge's daughter. And his name, you know. 'Candor.' Like there was ever an honest barrister." Greene scoffed and crossed his arms against his chest. Then his eyes widened as he took in Hermione's skeptical expression, and he seemed to realize how crass he'd sounded. "But like I said, I didn't kill him. I have clients who depend on me. Can't provide the best legal counsel on the continent while in Azkaban, can I?"

Hermione smiled without humor.

"Maybe the money got to you," she shrugged. "With Candor gone, his clients would need new representation. Your next competition is miles from catching up to your acquittal rate."

"Miss Granger," Greene said, shaking his head in dismissal, "I'll have to ask you to leave now. I don't appreciate this line of questioning."

Malfoy had finally seen everything in the office worth noting and headed for the door, opening it wide just as Hermione stood from her chair to join him. Malfoy smirked at Greene with a vicious glint in his eye. Greene narrowed his own eyes.

"Perhaps I should seek my own barrister."

Malfoy snorted as Hermione crossed over the threshold of the door, not bothering to stop her colleague from pissing off the man she happily considered their number one suspect.

"Well, good luck. The best one is dead and the other is under suspicion of murder. Have a good day."

Once back in the lift, Hermione sighed while Malfoy punched in the code again.

"Malfoy, what is wrong with you? We can't have all the suspects throwing us out. We barely got to ask him any questions."

"I know all I need to, Granger. He didn't kill Candor. The man collects snow globes, for Merlin's sake. Probably knits jumpers as well. Evil, sure, but not like a venomous snake...more like a rabid cat." Malfoy shrugged and forced his hands deep into his pockets as he leaned back against the wall of the lift.

"And I would want to run into exactly neither of those, thank you very much." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just for the record, your opinion on someone's guilt does not eliminate them as a suspect. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement requires actual proof that-"

"Blah, blah, blah, Granger. I heard you the first twenty times. If you're so tired of my baseless opinions, fire me. I'm beginning to think this wasn't the best idea after all. We are wasting time on these trivial cases. I need to find-"

"Trivial? I beg your pardon!" she said shrilly, her face turning redder than Ron's hair. "Someone has died! How can you-"

"My wife and child are dead. Forgive me if my desire for justice is focused elsewhere." He didn't look at her; he only watched the numbers on the lift tick down to the lobby, looking eager to escape.

"Oh, come off it. You were asked to join this team to find your family's killer, yes. But that's not our only case. We help you, you help us. You signed on the dotted line. You committed to this. If you want to back out, then fine, but don't delude yourself into thinking we don't want to help you. We do. _I_ do. But I want to help Candor's family too. I swore to help anyone who needed it when I took this position, and I'll be damned if I ever break a promise."

"Fine, Saint Granger. Whatever you say." He shrugged again, but still watched the lift doors closely.

"Are we good now? Because I won't stop every five minutes to remind you-"

"We're good. Let's go. Nothing else we can do here."

The lift doors finally opened and he pushed himself away from the wall, walking briskly ahead of Hermione. She sighed, again, feeling she'd been doing that quite a lot lately, and drew out her wand.

"Wait, Malfoy," she said, then flicked her wand. "Expecto Patronum." A silvery-white light shot out of the tip of her wand and it slowly spread into the misty, translucent form of an otter. Malfoy walked back a few steps to watch as she instructed it to deliver a message. "Luna. Contact the security company that oversees Walledge, Whitford and Hendricks. Ask them to send you details about the codes for the lifts and the process they use to change them. Also ask them for any information about other Muggle technology they use here. Let me know what you find out as soon as you can." Hermione nodded to her Patronus, signaling the end of her message. The otter flipped joyfully in mid-air, then leapt across the expansive lobby and through the wall.

"Ah, sweet Loony Lovegood. Enjoying her new position as Junior Arse Kisser?"

"Luna is a very bright witch, Malfoy, and I much prefer her company to yours." Hermione pocketed her wand and resumed walking, catching Tiffany's eye as they reached the door to the outside.

"That would be because, as I said, she is kissing your-"

"We need to talk to Henry Walledge and his daughter now. I want to know why he never mentioned that Candor was having trouble at his company when he gave his original statement."

"Oh, yes. That sly little prick. He's my pick for it, Granger. I'm calling it now." He actually pushed the door open for her and held it; she ignored his gesture and opened the one beside it, breathing in the fresh air…which was filled with the delicious smells of the bistro next door.

"What makes you say that? You've never even met him. Besides, he called _us_ for help."

"Patience Granger. All will be revealed. Oh, don't think I've forgotten about lunch. I can practically hear your mouth watering."

He grinned as he started toward the bistro, a slight breeze ruffling his hair and carrying with it an even stronger dose of delectable fragrance.

"Shut up before I hex you," Hermione grumbled, but she followed after him anyway. She couldn't deny her protesting stomach any longer.

"So hostile. Did you have your coffee this morning? Crookshanks shit in your slippers?"

-:-

Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd had such an odd day. So much had changed since she'd arrived at work that morning. She'd been assigned a cold case that still garnered enough media attention that the pressure was on for a quick resolution. She'd agreed to be responsible for Draco Malfoy. She'd be working with him for the foreseeable future.

And now she'd agreed to lunch with him.

She decided she was probably dreaming, or in a coma, and that she'd wake up soon enough. Hopefully.

The waiter arrived moments after they'd sat down at what Malfoy called his "usual table." He filled their water glasses and handed them both simple menus. He began going through the specials, but Malfoy only placed his menu on the table in front of him and smiled.

"That won't be necessary, thank you. I'd like the lentil soup with a small green salad; no red cabbage. For pudding...vanilla custard, one cherry." He turned to Hermione. "Your turn, Granger."

She felt her face flush as she clutched her menu tighter. She had barely had a minute to look at it, much less choose anything. There were no prices; always a bad sign.

"Oh-umm, I'll have-" She ran her eyes down the "lunch" column once more and blurted out the first entree she recognized. "The lunch portion of brisket with a side of broccoli. Oh, and a cup of strong tea, please."

The waiter took both menus and bowed slightly before disappearing into the crowded restaurant. Hermione felt her nerves settle as she checked out the beautiful terrace where they'd been seated. There were green vines filled with fragrant purple flowers curling around white columns and lattice. The bricked floor was covered in places with vibrant rugs in intriguing patterns. The tablecloths were the purest white with glass bowls of floating candles on top. A violin played tender notes through the murmuring voices of restaurant patrons.

Hermione realized it was not the sort of place for a business lunch and blushed again.

"What's the matter, Granger? The brisket is fine. You really wanted the fish and chips, but I can understand that you didn't want to look boring in front of me." He actually looked rather bored himself as he took a sip of water.

If possible, Hermione's face blushed even more furiously, and she fumbled with her own water glass, sloshing a bit over the rim and darkening a spot on the white tablecloth. Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"It's not that," Hermione whispered loudly, casting a furtive glance at the nearest occupied table. "This place is...a bit much, don't you think? It has sort of...a romantic ambiance?" She sounded confused to her own ears and winced. Malfoy chuckled and grinned widely, flashing a set of perfect teeth.

"Relax, Granger. I'd never seduce you over a meal. It's infantile. Besides, we may not see eye to eye, but I have more respect for you than that." He crossed his arms and smiled again, but it didn't touch his eyes. Hermione wondered if she would ever see him smile genuinely, or if he would always wear his mask.

"Good. Just so that's cleared up," she mumbled under her breath, not sure she could take further humiliation. She took another sip of water as Malfoy leaned forward. He lowered his voice, gesturing for her to come closer.

"So...how did you like the food when you came here with Wood?"

The brunette witch spewed her tiny sip of water everywhere, though it missed Malfoy. She imagined he'd cast a Shield charm just before asking his absurd question. Which meant he'd gotten her flustered on purpose. She slammed down her water glass, surprised when it didn't shatter.

"That is-none of your business," she said primly. Withdrawing her wand, she waved it over the table to dry the water splotches. It took a bit longer than she'd intended; her side of the table was quite soggy.

"So you're not denying it then," he chuckled, looking far too pleased with himself.

"No," she ground out through clenched teeth. "We've done nothing wrong. But how did you know about that?"

"Well, give me some credit Granger. You and Kingsley have entrusted me with your precious criminal cases. Surely you must believe I can deduce when someone is having sex with a coworker."

"Humor me."

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"When we saw this restaurant, you were more uncomfortable than you have been since Kingsley told you you'd be working with me. Clearly you have some memories of this place that upset you, or at least make you feel awkward in another man's presence. It had to be recent, I'd say within the last three years, otherwise you'd be over it and eating here would have no bearing on your mood. That means the Weasel is out. Everyone knows you dumped him a year after Hogwarts-good on you, by the way. I'm not blind to how protective Wood is over you, and being that you're a workaholic, you most likely only meet romantic prospects while working-"

"Okay, I get it. You're annoyingly perceptive. But he wasn't a coworker at the time," she supplied, though she had no idea why she felt compelled to explain herself. Perhaps because he was the first person to call her on it. "He was on Finnigan's team for years. I worked as an Auror under my boss, Senior Auror Wickham, for years. Wood and I...weren't together long before Wickham retired and offered his job to Wood, but he declined because..." She trailed off, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. Why was she telling Malfoy all of this? Then she remembered that he'd boasted about being able to get someone to tell him anything.

"Because he loved you, and he knew you couldn't be together if you were on the same team." Malfoy finished for her. She could have been imagining it, but she thought he was searching her face for something. She wondered if he found it.

Nodding, she continued. "It's strictly against Ministry rules. So I took Wickham's position. It was my dream. And then, a few months later, Oliver was reassigned to my team anyway. And we had to end things." She sighed. "Sometimes I wonder, knowing that things ended despite all, if Oliver wishes he could go back and take the job for himself."

She had never voiced that fear to anyone. It made her feel vulnerable, petty and bitter. Three things she wasn't, and she decided then and there that she wasn't going to let her guard down with Malfoy again, his uncanny skills be damned.

The waiter brought their meals then; two mouthwatering dishes that smelled heavenly and promised a very satisfying conclusion to what was so far a disastrous lunch. Hermione thanked God that eating would shut Malfoy (and herself) up for the rest of the hour.

They chewed in silence for a few minutes. Hermione made a point not to avoid eye contact with him. She tried to act like his questions hadn't fazed her; he would see through it, but her pride was too great not to try to hide it. After a few moments, Malfoy's jaw clenched briefly, and Hermione could tell he was about to say something she wouldn't like.

"For what it's worth, I can assure you he has no regrets. Wood is not the type to begrudge someone their success," he said, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. He placed it in his lap and caught her eyes with his own stormy grey ones, looking calm and serious. "And the bloke still loves you, obviously."

She was right. She definitely did not want to hear this. What Oliver and she had had was over. It was only natural she wondered occasionally what might have been, but her heart didn't long for that future anymore, and she was sure Oliver was on the same page.

"I can see you don't believe me, but you're wrong. Very, very wrong. He probably has a shrine to you in his flat somewhere...maybe kept a jumper of yours, just in case you ever found your way back there again-"

"Are you finished? Or do you plan to talk about my love life until they're lowering my lifeless, spinster body into the ground?" She stood up and tossed a few galleons on the table, hoping it was enough. "We have work to do. And don't read me again, Malfoy. That's an order!"

She stormed away, becoming even more incensed at Malfoy's barking laughter behind her.

"Way to kill the mood, Granger!" He called over his shoulder. The waiter reappeared then, looking confused at Hermione's sudden departure.

"Is everything alright, Mr. Malfoy?" He asked nervously.

Malfoy smiled, still chuckling over Hermione's outburst.

"Yes, everything's fine. But I'll take my custard to go."

-:-

Malfoy emerged from the restaurant carrying his precious custard and grinning from ear to ear.

"Finally! I've been waiting ten minutes! What have you been doing-" Hermione began, then her eyes dropped to the cup in his hands. "Really? You're still eating?"

"I'm hungry, Granger. All this thinking and deducing really takes it out of a wizard." He scooped a huge spoonful of the treat into his mouth, smiling as he swallowed. Hermione grit her teeth and stretched out her hand.

"Come on. We're heading back to the Ministry for a bit. Luna just sent her Patronus to tell me she's heard back from the security company. And she says an owl came for you."

"Oh, it's probably about my mother. I request twice daily updates on her activities from her house elf. She's probably painting, or on a stroll in the gardens." Another bite of custard.

Hermione's expression softened. She wondered if she should say the words that suddenly came to her lips, thinking it better not to cross the line into friendly conversation again, but her mouth seemed to have a mind of its own.

"It's nice that you still take care of her after all these years," she said gently, just as Malfoy finished off his cherry and tossed his trash into the bin near the bistro's exit.

"Yes, well," he said, clearing his throat and taking her hand to Side-Along Apparate, "she's all I have left."

-:-

As soon as they were back inside the Ministry, they headed directly to their floor. The lift was crowded with employees just returning to their departments after late lunches. Hermione smiled to herself; at least she wasn't the only workaholic in the place.

A few of the others in the tight space eyed Malfoy curiously; Hermione realized Shacklebolt hadn't yet announced their partnership to the public. Malfoy seemed completely oblivious to their stares; Hermione met a few pairs of eyes with small, awkward smiles.

As soon as the doors opened to their floor, Luna danced over to them, holding multiple sheets of parchment and a thick envelope; she handed the parchment to Hermione and the letter to Malfoy. He immediately returned to his desk beside Luna's and began to open it, ignoring the blonde witch as she serenely began to fill her boss in on what she'd learned.

But she'd barely spoken two sentences when the women heard a sharp gasp from Malfoy. Hermione turned to cast a concerned stare at the wizard, who seemed even paler than usual. Luna watched him with a blank expression.

"Who-" Malfoy gasped suddenly, turning the letter and envelope over and over in his hands. "Who sent this? Did you see the owl?" he demanded, standing so abruptly his chair nearly toppled over. He reached out the hand holding the letter toward Luna. "Tell me-do you know where this came from?"

"No," Luna said, unfazed. "I'm sorry. I was on a Floo call with the head of the security company. It was on your desk when I returned."

Hermione couldn't believe the transition from the joking, arrogant man she'd had lunch with into the panicked, desperate one in front of her. Something had disturbed him, shaken him to his core. Before she knew she'd done so, she stepped forward and extended one hand toward the letter.

Malfoy snatched it back toward his body and snarled at her. She withdrew her hand as though burned.

"Don't touch it!" he spat angrily. Then he looked down at it, read some part of it again, and his face became haunted once more. He swallowed, then returned his gaze to Hermione. "It…it could be cursed. Don't touch it." His voice was strained, nearly silent. His hands were shaking.

"Malfoy…you've touched it, and nothing has happened. Calm down, okay? Tell us what this is about."

As she'd spoken, Malfoy sank back into his chair. The hand with the letter rested against one knee; the other hand held up his head as his fingers raked through his hair. He didn't speak or make any signal he was ever going to.

"Luna, please get Malfoy some tea," Hermione ordered quietly. She felt Luna leave her side rather than saw her departure; she was afraid to take her eyes off Malfoy, lest he do something rash. When it came down to it, she didn't know him well enough to trust him, regardless of what Kingsley said. Trust was something that had to be earned with time. Malfoy had her concern, but not her trust. She also knew that went both ways, so she advanced slowly.

"Malfoy," she swallowed hard. She always hated dealing with emotionally compromised people. It was one part of the job that was hardest for her, perhaps because their pain and anguish brought up old memories that she'd rather keep buried.

He didn't move. Hermione took another step.

"I can't help you until you tell me what's wrong. Is it about your mother? Is she-did something happen?"

"No. Not my mother," he croaked, and finally lifted his head. He placed the letter on his desk, beside a small vial that Hermione hadn't seen before.

"Did that come with the letter?" she asked as she stepped closer. She was close enough to make out a few words-or rather, she could see that there weren't many words at all.

"Yes." Malfoy lifted the vial, holding it between his thumb and index finger. Hermione's eyes widened as she realized what the swirling silver liquid inside was.

"Someone sent you a memory? Why? Malfoy, tell me!" she was close enough now to see the tiny hairs on the back of Malfoy's neck. He closed his eyes tightly, enclosing the vial in his fist, then slid the letter to the edge of the desk closest to her. Hermione snatched it up, keeping one wary eye on Malfoy. But he didn't move, didn't react. He only stared at his tightly closed fist.

The brown-haired witch's shrewd eyes dropped down to the two short sentences on the parchment. There was no introduction; just a few words written with perfect penmanship; probably done with a wand to disguise the handwriting. She read it at least six times before, with a shaking breath, she read it aloud.

"'Worry not, old friend. I promise to ensure you'll never forget. E.G.'" Hermione read the letter again, then finally found her voice. "It's from _him_." Her eyes grew even wider. "And _that_ -" she pointed to Malfoy's fist, still encircled around the vial. Hermione felt sick to her stomach. The evil thing that it was, that she was certain it was, played like a film in her mind.

"I know what it is. He's sent it before. This…" Malfoy said, his voice gravelly and pained "…is how he remembers murdering my family."

* * *

 **A/N:**

Two things:

One, I feel that this is the place to tell you my position on Hermione and Draco. This story is first and foremost about his family's murder and revenge. The development of their relationship WILL be slow, as that is most realistic. Also, while I have always believed Hermione to be the extremely intelligent witch Rowling wrote her to be, I've long felt that Draco was her intellectual match, and may have even surpassed her at Hogwarts, had he not been so distracted by being forced into Death Eater duties/repairing the Vanishing Cabinet.

I don't wish to portray Hermione as an incompetent Auror; she absolutely isn't. She and her team WOULD and could solve any case regardless of Draco's help; he's just meticulously observant and bends the rules enough that cases are solved more quickly. Plus, he's hyper-aware of anything having to do with his own family's murder, because it's personal. Kingsley knows this and that is why he has them working together. The Hermione in this story is every bit as important to the team as Draco. And there will be other cases besides his own, because as Hermione said, that's the job.

Lastly, **PLEASE review**. It assures me I'm on the right track with this!

Thank you for reading!

Next time: The resolution of Deacon Candor's murder investigation...and a direct threat from E.G.


	4. By The Light Of Silver Moon

A/N: So this chapter is way longer than I intended because I wanted to establish everyone's role in the team before the next chapter, when Draco's revenge will be the main focus. Also I'm going out of state, so it'll be a while before I update.

As always, please review. As much as I love writing this, it does take up a lot of time! I'll update this story AFTER this chapter gets 10 reviews. You can do it ;)

Also still no beta, so forgive mistakes!

Thanks for reading!

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

Granger said nothing to him. He could feel her pitying stare, though. It burned into the side of his face and neck, scalding his pride. He heard her feet shuffle as she shifted her weight from her right hip to her left. She let out a barely audible sigh.

Then the sound of unhurried footfalls grew louder until he saw Lovegood in his periphery, just as she placed a steaming cup of dark tea on his desk, directly under his face.

"Would you like cream and sugar?"

He couldn't help it. He half-laughed, half-sobbed at her painfully oblivious question. The smell of fresh, hot tea wafted to his nostrils and a powerful urge to vomit overcame him. He rose fluidly to his feet and walked away, toward Mafalda Hopkirk's unoccupied office, running a hand through his hair. He had no idea where he was going, but he couldn't stay here. Receiving mournful looks from Lovegood was one thing, but he couldn't stomach Granger's pity.

He heard the blonde witch behind him ask her friend, "Did I say something wrong?" and imagined Granger assuring her with some facial expression that she was not to blame, that he was crazy and to ignore his eccentric behavior.

But she surprised him. The pressure of her warm hand on his shoulder caused him to stop. She'd had to sprint to catch up to him, but she wasn't out of breath. In fact, he was sure she hadn't breathed since he'd showed her the letter.

Turning slowly, steeling himself against whatever hollow words of consolation she would attempt to offer, he resolved all over again to find Elias Grey and kill him, tortuously; a new grievance had been added to the long list against his family's murderer. He was about to be comforted by Hermione Granger, perhaps the only living person on earth he had tortured as much as himself.

Her hand fell away from him once he'd turned to face her. She looked more businesslike than he'd expected. Her shoulders were square, her back straight, her chin lifted slightly. Her eyes weren't sad; they were burning with intent. Draco kept his face impassive, certain it didn't betray the surprise he felt. He'd gotten particularly good at hiding his emotions.

"I'll need to see that memory, you know. It's evidence, and I'm the lead Auror on this investigation. Not now. I know you'll need some time. But soon." Her brow furrowed and she tucked her chin, reminding Draco of his mother's reaction when he disappointed her. "Malfoy, I need to know that you're here. One hundred percent focused. We have a job to do. If you think you need to call it a day, that's fine. Take all the time you need. But I have a job to do, and I can't do it if I'm..." She trailed off then, swallowing hard. Draco blinked.

"If you're worried I'm going to fuck something up?" he supplied unhelpfully. Granger blushed, pursing her lips. "I have to say, I find this very...crass of you. I thought you were going to offer to buy me a new pet or something."

"I don't mean to be crass. I am just as concerned for your welfare as I am for my case. If you're distracted, you could be hurt. I don't want that to happen. I want to help you, and I promise to do that, but there is an order in which things must be done. We can't lose our bearings because new evidence has come up in an old case-"

"It isn't new," he said firmly. "It's always the same. Every year around the anniversary he sends me the same memory." Draco shut his eyes tight and reached into his pocket to collect the vial. He brought it out and held it in front of him so Granger could see. She narrowed her eyes at it, then caught his gaze, asking for permission. He nodded.

"Why would he send the same memory over and over?" She pondered as her fingers closed around it, brushing against Draco's palm. She held it up close to her face, as though she expected it to explain its owner's intentions. "You're sure there isn't the slightest difference?"

"Positive. I've kept them all. Watched them all. The thought had occurred to me that he could be sending me clues, out of arrogance, because he likes this game. But there's nothing. It's..."

"Sick. He's unwell."

Draco scoffed. "I never should have doubted your detective skills. He's killed at least twenty people, and now you've decided he's unwell."

"No, I mean, of course he's sick. But that's the definition of insanity: Doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting a different result. And I don't believe he's insane. I believe everything he does is calculated. He expects you to glean something from this to help you make your own move."

"Perhaps he's overestimated my abilities."

Granger held the vial in the palm of her hand, weighing it thoughtfully. She bit her lip.

"What is it, Granger? You're doing that thing you do when you're worried you're right about something." He gestured to his own lip.

"Huh? Oh." She relaxed her face, and took a deep breath. "I think...well, there has to be some information in this that will advance the 'game' as you put it. But...now isn't the time." She sighed, and withdrew her wand from her pocket. She conjured a protective shield around the vial, preventing it from being contaminated by further handling. "I'll place this in the evidence lockup. Once we've handled this Deacon Candor case, we will take a look at this together."

Draco's eyes never left the shimmering object in Granger's hand, even when she mumbled another spell, causing the vial to levitate and abruptly whisk away down the hall. Once it disappeared from sight, he realized Granger was serious about "later" and his face hardened into a scowl. He caught her arm just as she began to move away.

"I know you don't expect me to put this off. He may send me the same memory every time, but I always...always watch it, just in case. If this time there's something new, I need to know about it now."

Granger carefully removed her arm from his grasp, her brow furrowed in caution.

"The Elias Grey case has been ongoing for years, Malfoy." She stepped back and crossed her arms against her chest, reminding him of the bossy witch from Hogwarts. "It's highly unlikely the memory is going to show you his face, name and exact location. We will need all our attention focused on it, and right now, we're in the middle of an investigation. Candor was murdered last night. We are most likely to catch a murderer within forty-eight hours of the crime. The clock is ticking on this. I'm sorry," she said, a little softer, "but the memory will have to wait."

Draco's hands tightened into fists and his jaw clenched so painfully his teeth hurt. He turned his head to look off in the direction the vial had gone.

"Don't even think about it," Granger sighed, turning away. "Only an Auror can get into the evidence room." She paused, looking back over her shoulder, and watched Draco swallow hard, still staring down the hall.

"I made a promise, Granger," he said solemnly, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, he was looking at her with resolve on his face. He didn't need to tell her that he was talking about the promise he'd made to the corpses of his wife and child...his vow to avenge them.

"I know you did," Granger replied, biting her lip. "And I'll make sure you keep it."

-:-

While Lovegood was going through her notes on what she and Longbottom had seen at Candor's flat, Wood returned from speaking to the owner of Candor's favorite pub. He shot a pointed gaze in Draco's direction, then ignored him as he made a beeline for Granger. He tapped her elbow with two fingers; Draco realized Wood still found it necessary to touch her.

They all sat in the large open area of desks, which Lovegood called the "bullpen." Draco had relaxed enough to take his seat at his own desk, calmly leaning back and determined to hear every detail so as to wrap up this case as quickly as possible.

Longbottom had been in his office through the entire incident with the letter. He came to join them just as Wood took a seat.

"So, to summarize," Lovegood said, "we didn't find anything. It doesn't appear that Candor has been to his flat in a week, at the least."

"Yeah, Boss," Longbottom said. Draco rolled his eyes. "He must have been staying with his fiancé. There were a lot of pictures of her, a couple of his parents, but nothing weird."

"Same story as his office," Granger chimed in. "Doesn't look like there was a struggle. The Ministry technicians are going to review the last spells Candor cast, to see what he was doing just before he was killed. What about the security company?"

"Oh, yes," Lovegood said, picking up the stack of parchment she'd given Granger earlier. She picked up the top page, which Draco could see had the security company's letterhead. "The company is called WandLock. They owled this immediately after I contacted them. It's a list of all the services they offer, and an explanation of how they work. Apparently Walledge, Whitford and Hendricks was very well protected. The owner of WandLock says they're still trying to figure out how their system was breached."

While she spoke, Granger took the list and began reading, her eyes rapidly moving across the parchment. Wood leaned in to read over her shoulder. Draco watched closely, but there was no trace of a reaction from the witch. Wood, however, glanced too often at her exposed neck. Draco smirked. He'd been right, of course. He loved being right.

"I see here there was Muggle surveillance equipment installed at every exit to the outside. They must have been Disillusioned. Malfoy and I didn't see them when we were there." She read a few other options on the list aloud, including the information Tiffany had shared about lift codes; the same code was also required for the door to the stairs. They were changed in the morning, afternoon and just after close of business.

"So it has to be someone on the inside. It's got to be an employee who killed our victim, otherwise they couldn't use the lift after hours, when Candor was killed." Longbottom leaned back against an unoccupied desk beside Draco's, his face scrunched in thought. Draco delighted in thwarting his assumption.

"Not necessarily. Could have been, sure. But an employee of the security company, or the law office? Ah, no, I've got it," he said, smiling widely, holding his hands up as though straightening a portrait on the wall. He leaned back in his chair and propped his legs up on his desk, crossing them at the ankles. "The killer waited in the lobby until someone else came in to use the lift, then just followed them inside and watched them put in the code. Then they could hide in an empty office until closing time, and kill Candor unobserved. Does that expand our pool of suspects?"

The others just stared at him. Lovegood looked serene as usual, but Wood and Longbottom glared daggers. Granger, though, surprisingly just nodded.

"You're right. It's definitely a possibility." She flipped through the pages to double-check. "This says fifteen minutes before the code is changed, 'a designated employee receives an owl with a new four-digit code. This employee then forwards the code to all remaining staff via the method of the employer's choosing, excepting after close of business.' So only one person knows the code to get back inside after closing time."

Her eyes scanned further down the page and a sly smile appeared as she discovered some juicy bit of information. "Look, Malfoy," she said, reaching toward him with the parchment outstretched. "This may be of some interest to you."

He took the paper with a quirked brow, keenly aware of everyone's eyes on him as he scanned the information.

"Ah. Tiffany Swift is the 'designated employee.' She knows how to get in after hours." He rubbed the lower half of his face with one hand, feeling the prickly stubble there. "So?"

Granger snorted.

"'So?' What do you mean, 'So?' Either your little friend is in on the murder or she killed Candor herself. You just don't want to admit it because you didn't read it on her while you were flirting your smug face off!" Her jaw tightened as she clenched her teeth. Maybe Draco had been too mean to Neville. He quirked another eyebrow, because he now knew it annoyed her. Then, as though she'd never lost her temper, the lines in her face relaxed and she released a heavy sigh. "I apologize. That was unprofessional. This has been the most unusual day of my life, and that's saying something."

Draco nodded. "Also, you're a little irritated you didn't peg Tiffany for a killer. It was an honest mistake. Don't beat yourself up about it." He shrugged.

Granger's anger stained her face red all the way to her hairline.

"But just so you know, you weren't totally wrong." He smiled. "If Tiffany is an accomplice, she's an unwitting one. I'm sure she realizes now that she's partially responsible, and that's why she wasn't forthcoming about knowing the evening code. Makes her look quite suspicious." Draco cheered inside at the fascinating reaction Granger was having to his goading. She appeared likely to implode at any moment.

Wood cleared his throat and straightened, looking intensely at Draco.

"How about unless a thought is necessary, you don't express it." His tone was cold and full of warning. To Draco, this felt like another day at Malfoy Enterprises.

"I'm just having a little fun with her. If you think she can't handle it-"

"I never said that."

"Then don't interrupt the grown-ups while we're talking."

Wood took two long strides forward until he was less than a meter from Draco, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. Staring coolly down at him, Wood spoke.

"You don't belong here, Malfoy. We've all worked too hard to put up with your bullshit. You've been here less than a day, and you already think you're better at our job. Figure out who killed your family on your own, since you think we're all incompetent."

"Oliver," Granger said, and Draco saw his shoulders immediately relax a fraction. "Let's not do this right now. I appreciate the effort, but it's not worth it."

Longbottom stepped forward, placing a hand on Wood's shoulder and speaking softly.

"She's right, mate. Don't waste your time. It's just Malfoy being Malfoy." He didn't seem offended in the least; Draco could read him like an open book. He was wary of Draco, more so than the others, but he was more comfortable when Draco was behaving as he was now. He was used to it, and familiarity felt good when you were trying to wrap your head around working with a former Death Eater who tortured you in childhood.

"No," Granger said, surprising him again. "What he said is right. He noticed things about Swift that I didn't." She looked at him, a barely-there smile on her lips. Draco kept his face blank, and after a moment, her smile disappeared. She cleared her throat and turned to Wood. "So, what happened with the pub owner?"

"Very little," Wood quipped, slipping easily back into his professional role. "He moonlights as the barkeep. Says Candor's parents were both Muggles, killed in the war. Candor talked about them a lot, and being stressed at work. More lately than usual. He never gave a reason why though."

Granger nodded and tucked her frizzy brown curls behind her ears. Draco knew she was thinking about her own Muggle parents and thanking a higher power that they'd lived, then feeling guilty that Candor's had not.

"Right. Well...Neville, you take Luna and visit WandLock. Tell them you'd like to see footage from their Muggle surveillance cameras." The two of them nodded and glanced briefly at each other. Longbottom blushed and swallowed thickly, then focused on his shoes. Lovegood just blinked.

"Wood, pick up Tiffany Swift. Put her in room four, but don't interview her yet." Granger straightened her robes and checked her pockets for her wand and her Anti-Apparition device. Lovegood and Longbottom slipped down the hall to the lift. "Malfoy and I will go speak with the judge and the fiance, then join you."

Wood said nothing, only nodded. Draco watched him with well-hidden fascination. He was quite good at hiding what he was feeling and thinking (except when it came to Granger). But Draco knew he wanted to curse him into oblivion, and that stopped him from mouthing off as he and Granger passed by him on their way out of the bullpen.

-:-

The walk from the gate to the front door of Judge Henry Walledge's estate might have been a pleasant one if Hermione thought she could get away with Conjuring a muzzle on Malfoy.

He asked her a barrage of questions, most of which she didn't have the answers to, and all of them were about one subject.

"Where would you like to start with the Elias Grey case?" he asked, taking in the manicured gardens and gazebo; Walledge obviously loved to showcase his wealth and success. Hermione imagined he must be comparing himself to Walledge. Both were from centuries-old Pureblood families, a man after Draco's own heart. Well, the way his heart used to be.

Malfoy withdrew a cigarette from a pack inside his robe pocket and lit it with his wand. His habit surprised Hermione; she could count on one hand the number of Pureblood wizards who smoked Muggle cigarettes. Voldemort may have been defeated, but some wizards held onto their bigotry. She decided that moment wasn't the time to ask him about it.

"I'm not sure," she said, biting her lip and squinting against the sun. "We should probably review his very first kill. I've already put in a request to Mafalda for the records. It may take a few days before we can get them released to us."

"Oh yes, Mafalda Hopkirk. 'Departmental Secretary.' Have you worked with her long? Do you like her?" He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, and Hermione oddly felt like they were taking a casual stroll as friends, enjoying the springtime.

"Er, yes. Ever since I started as an Auror. Before that, she worked in Improper Use of Magic. But…things happened during the war," Hermione said, blanching, as she decided to skip that explanation. "She's become a friend." She turned to scrutinize his face. "Why are you so interested in Mafalda?"

"Well, she was there when I came to the Ministry to give my statement. I want to know everything about anyone who has connections to my family's case." He shrugged and continued his leisurely pace. Hermione noticed with relief that they were nearing the mansion. They could have Apparated much closer, but Malfoy had insisted they walk so he would have a few moments to smoke.

"So, you know everything about Finnegan and his team?"

"Obviously, Granger. I make it my business to know everyone else's business. My company hasn't enjoyed such great success out of luck. I've learned how to read people, how to manipulate them into telling me what I need to know." A sudden grin split his face. "And if that doesn't work, I'm not above bribery. It's the Slytherin in me."

"Well, I'm sure you're aware that bribery is against the law. If I ever find out you're offering bribes to solve these cases-"

"You'll arrest me?" His barking laughter caught her off guard.

"Yes, Malfoy. And Shacklebolt will toss you out on your arse," she warned sharply. "My team follows the rules, so you'd better learn them quickly."

Malfoy stopped walking and Hermione stopped after a few more paces, turning her body half towards him.

"What are you doing? We're almost there."

"You listen to me, Granger," he snarled, his face completely different than it had been seconds before. "I do not respond well to threats. As I said, I need to be here to find my family's killer. Nothing will keep me from Elias Grey. And if you try to stand in my way-you-" he took a step forward, his hands shaking, but Hermione refused to step back. He took another step until he was nearly in her face, his grey eyes swirling with venom. "You will regret it."

She'd half expected him to call her 'Mudblood,' but he didn't.

Hermione fought hard to maintain a professional demeanor. Until Malfoy had landed in her lap, she had prided herself on remaining calm and diplomatic even when being screamed at by suspects, haughty wizards; Purebloods who thought surely there must be another Auror with better blood who could handle their case. Even sometimes a grieving family member she had to question would lash out at her. But she'd always stayed serene, keeping her voice gentle, apologetic.

She didn't know what it was about Malfoy, but her armor was cracking, and serenity was not in the cards for her. Not today.

"You know what, Malfoy? I've had it with your fucking attitude." She whipped out her wand, uncharacteristic of her under these circumstances; he'd somehow known she was going to do it, and his own wand was out just as quickly, barely a meter from hers.

"Going to Stun me, Granger? Think you're scary, do you? You have no idea what I've seen!" he spat, and stepped closer. Their wands were a few centimeters apart. Hermione ignored her pounding heart. It was an odd setting for a duel; birds chirping and flowers blooming and the gentle sound of water rushing through a fountain.

"You've seen your family die. Your child. You're right, I can't imagine," she panted. "But I've fought in a war. I've done this job nearly ten years. I've seen enough horrible things to last me a thousand lifetimes. I don't use it as an excuse to be vicious! I'd never take someone's life as revenge. That's not who I am!" She yelled, and Malfoy momentarily stopped glaring at her. Hermione realized her wand was now poking into his chest, and her eyes widened.

Here she was, in front of the home of a murder victim's family, ready to Stun a work colleague. Talk about unprofessional.

Slowly, she lowered her wand. Malfoy never took his eyes away from her. She vaguely realized the tip of his weapon was prodding into her left side, just below her rib cage.

"I don't think this is who you are, either," she said gently. Malfoy's pupils widened very slightly, and the pressure against her skin lessened. As she spoke again, she carefully tucked her wand away, making exaggerated movements so he could see what she was doing. "You're angry, and sad, and lonely. I want to help you, but you have to let me." Putting both hands up, palms facing him, she licked her lips, awaiting a response.

The platinum blond wizard's expression withered. He looked bored now, his lips twisted slightly with disdain. But his eyes were softer. Not trusting, but perhaps wanting to. Wanting to believe her. But in all likelihood, she was imagining that.

As quickly as their fight began, it ended. He didn't take his eyes away from hers as he pocketed his wand.

"Reading people is my bit, Granger. Stick to what you know."

He continued walking again, stepping around her. Before she had a chance to gather her bearings, Malfoy had reached the front door of Judge Henry Walledge's six-hundred year old mansion.

Malfoy looked back at her and quirked an eyebrow.

"Are you planning on moving sometime today?"

Hermione blinked. After another moment, she joined him on the steps leading up to the door. Malfoy watched her closely, and Hermione thought she detected a sliver of mirth in his eyes. She tried to think of something to say. His demeanor had changed so abruptly that she wasn't sure how to act. Then those same grey eyes rolled in impatience before refocusing on her.

"Right. I suppose I'll knock, then."

Malfoy rapped the silver knocker against the heavy wooden door three times and stepped back to stand beside Hermione to wait for a response. He didn't speak or look at her, and she realized she was openly staring.

"Try not to gape like a fish, Granger. It doesn't suit you." He lowered his voice slightly and leaned closer to her ear. "You should let me do most of the talking."

"And why might that be?" she asked, knocking again, harder than Malfoy had.

"Because Walledge is a Pureblood. He'll relate to me. Plus, he obviously values wealth and business acumen, both of which I possess. And there's the fact that I'm sort of a murder victim, too, just as they are."

"Deacon Candor is the victim. The only person who has actually been murdered."

"How cold and unfeeling of you, Granger. I'm shocked."

"Right. You know what, Malfoy? I've been doing this job a lot longer than you have, so why don't you just stick your-"

"What business do you have here?" a small, disheveled house elf asked. The door had opened in the middle of Hermione's tirade, and her face flushed with embarrassment. She cleared her throat, ignoring Malfoy's snicker.

"I am Auror Hermione-"

"Draco Malfoy, as I'm sure you're aware, and my work colleague from the Ministry, the Saintly Hermione Granger. We need to speak with your master. It's urgent. Run along and fetch him." Malfoy's tone was light and disinterested as he inspected his nails. The elf's wrinkled eyelids lowered, its eyes narrowing into thin slits. It opened the door just wide enough that they could squeeze through. Malfoy entered first; Hermione rolled her eyes and shut the door behind them, just as she heard the "pop" signaling the house elf had Apparated. She immediately turned to glare at Malfoy.

"That was rude!" she whispered harshly. "House Elves do have rights now-"

"Did you see the state of him, Granger? He doesn't have rights in this house. He probably enjoys the abuse." He stepped further into the grand foyer, admiring the dark furniture and gilded mirrors. The heels of his shoes clicked against the marble floor. Hermione followed behind him, glaring at his back. Looking around the room, she could tell everything in it was of the highest quality, but she was sure she couldn't appreciate it the way Malfoy did.

"What an awful thing to say."

"The truth is often awful. Isn't that what they teach you on day one of 'Insufferable Auror Training Camp?'" He'd stopped in front of a glass cabinet framed with the same dark mahogany wood. Inside it were many jeweled trinkets, a few twinkling in the light of the many candles floating above their heads. Malfoy opened the door and reached inside, choosing one at random to pick up and inspect.

Hermione had been examining three of the portraits on the walls of sneering old wizards, labeled as the founders of Walledge, Whitford and Hendricks. The heirs of Whitford and Hendricks had died mysteriously, so Henry Walledge now owned the business. There was another portrait of Walledge's ancestor. They all seemed ready to berate her for daring to come inside, when she realized what Malfoy was doing.

"Malfoy! Don't touch that!" she hissed, reaching out to snatch the bauble away. He turned his torso just in time so that her hand connected with his upper arm. Smirking childishly, he stretched the item far above Hermione's head, out of her reach.

"Jump, Granger. Go on. Ask me how high."

She reminded herself that if she did murder him, she'd be buried under paperwork for days, and Kingsley might be a little miffed. She snorted, crossing her arms against her chest, struggling to come up with a witty retort.

"Well, this is interesting," a gravelly voice cut across the room, and they both turned to look at the foot of the massive staircase. The judge stood there in solid black robes, a forced smile stretching his pale skin. "So you're the more-than capable Auror Shacklebolt promised to deliver. And a famous one, no less. How intriguing. But I expected your visit." His dark eyes narrowed into thin slits as they moved down her body. Hermione suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Then the judge's gaze quickly shifted to her companion. "Little Malfoy, though; it is quite surprising to see you here."

"Mr. Walledge, we need to talk to you about Deacon," Hermione hedged.

"Ah, poor boy. Devastated by his passing, absolutely. My daughter is shattered. Hasn't stopped crying since we heard the news. Have you caught the one responsible?" As he walked closer to them, he pushed his hands into his robes. Hermione felt Malfoy stiffen beside her, but she noticed his face remained pleasant and attentive.

"Er, not yet, sir," she offered lamely.

"Then what do you have to tell me? Have you made any progress at all? You can't have so many questions. I already gave my statement to the other constables. They were here hours ago."

He made no effort to hide the condescension in his voice, but Hermione had expected as much.

"No news. We need answers of our own, and we'd really appreciate it if we could speak with you and Melanie." She felt Malfoy incline his head minimally to look at her, perhaps impressed with how unaffected she seemed. But she doubted it. He was annoyingly perceptive.

"She's indisposed." The judge said immediately. "Perhaps I can speak on her behalf?"

"I understand she is grieving, but I'm afraid her cooperation is necessary. Mr. Malfoy and I won't keep you any longer than we must."

Walledge pressed his lips into a firm line.

"Very well, but you should know this displeases me. I will be speaking with Shacklebolt."

"If you feel so inclined," Hermione replied stiffly.

"And you haven't spoken once, Malfoy. What is your business with Hermione Granger?" He said her name with a smirk, communicating quite clearly that he thought this was pathetic on Malfoy's part.

"I'm assisting her with a few cases, Walledge. Nothing more."

"Ah? Of course. Even the _best_ of us need a little help sometimes, eh, Miss Granger? Pims!" He called, and his house elf popped into the room. He didn't check to see if the elf was there. "Collect Melanie for me. Promptly."

-:-

After being led on a blissfully brief tour, during which Walledge told Malfoy at least thirteen times not to touch something, they entered a drawing room with a roaring fireplace where they would conduct their interviews. It being the middle of spring, Hermione imagined this was deliberately done to make them uncomfortable.

A pretty redhead in her early twenties was already there, and she rose immediately when she registered who they were. Hermione took note of her wrinkled robes, swollen eyes and the sodden handkerchief she was twisting absent-mindedly.

"What are they doing here, Father? Have they caught Deacon's killer?" she asked, her bottom lip, quivering.

"No, darling. They're here because they think we are involved somehow."

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"That's not why we're here at all, Mr. Walledge. Melanie, we would like to ask you a few simple questions about Deacon, if that's okay." Hermione gestured to the love seat where Melanie had been sitting, and she nodded in consent. Both women sat on the love seat. Walledge regally lowered himself into a rather uncomfortable-looking, ludicrously expensive chair. Malfoy remained standing silently. Hermione smiled softly at the distraught woman beside her. "I'm Hermione Granger, and this is Draco Malfoy. Wizarding Commissioner Johnson has turned Deacon's case over to my team of Aurors. I realize you've already answered a lot of questions, but I wanted to speak with you personally." Her voice was gentle, featherlike. Malfoy watched her with sharp interest, but she didn't notice.

"I told the other investigators everything…and it's painful to talk about this," Melanie sniffed, managing a watery smile. "But I'll try."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you. Even something small can help in a big way."

Malfoy chuckled and spoke for the first time. All eyes snapped to him.

"Really. But she wants big stuff if you've got it. I mean Granger's a workaholic, but she's not above taking a shortcut every now and again."

Malfoy didn't try to hide his pleasure at seeing Hermione's face contorted in poorly-concealed rage.

"Malfoy, please," she ground out. She gave him a hard stare, then returned her attention to the other witch. "Melanie, I apologize. Anything you can tell us, anything you can remember, we'll be glad to hear."

The judge, who had been tapping his fingers agitatedly against the arm of his chair, cleared his throat loudly.

"Don't say anything if it makes you uncomfortable, Melanie. You have rights."

Melanie ignored him completely.

"What would you like to know?"

"Now, Melanie-" the judge started again, forcing his daughter to address him.

"No, Daddy. They're trying to help Deacon. We have to cooperate. Both of us," she said pointedly.

Malfoy laughed again, a sound that Hermione was quickly realizing was a warning that he was about to say something she would not approve of. She tried to capture his gaze and silence him with a look, but he had his back to her, slowly circling the room, taking in the titles of books on shelves and portraits sneering at him.

"Well, it's all a matter of opinion really, but being dead, Deacon is rather beyond help. It's you we're trying to get justice for-"

Melanie let out a sob that seemed to rip through her chest, and Hermione felt her own stomach drop.

"Now look what you've done!" Walledge said, jumping to his feet. "Who do you think you are? Pureblood or not, I'll have you prosecuted to the full extent-"

"No, Daddy. I-I apologize. It's all very fresh." Melanie dabbed at her eyes with the soiled handkerchief. "We-we just decided on a wedding theme last week. And now I'll be planning his funeral...his...his parents aren't alive to do it, you see-" her voice cut out, and Hermione felt compelled to place a hand on the witch's shaking shoulder.

"Melanie, your grief is understandable. We don't want to upset you further, but-"

"I want to help. I'll tell you anything you want to know." She sounded a bit more in control. Hermione smiled.

"Thank you." She patted her shoulder and returned her hand to her lap. Walledge was near to bursting with rage. His voice shook when he advanced toward Hermione, clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles were white.

"I insist that our solicitor be present for this unjust interview -"

"Sir, please take a step back-" Hermione cautioned, reaching toward her robes where her wand was. She couldn't look at Malfoy, but she thought she saw him reaching for his own wand out of the corner of her eye.

"I'd like to speak with you privately, please." Melanie whispered the words so softly, it took a moment for her father to absorb them. When he did, he looked even more livid than before.

"Melanie, don't you dare-"

"Where would you like to talk?" Malfoy interrupted, appearing just behind the love seat, smiling his most charming smile to put the small witch at ease. He reached out a hand to help her get to her feet, and she tentatively took it. As soon as she'd collected herself, Malfoy withdrew his hand. "I apologize for being so rude before. This is my first day working with the Aurors."

Melanie studied him for moment, seeming to finally come to a decision that he wasn't the spawn of Voldemort. Hermione stood, rolling her eyes and not caring if she looked ungraceful. Of course Malfoy could charm his way out of the situation.

"It's okay. You're right, anyway. Deacon is…he's not with us anymore. I appreciate your honesty." Melanie inclined her head, and Draco offered her his hand again, along with a grin. "I'd like to talk in the garden. Deacon showed me how to plant flowers the Muggle way there. We actually...we were going to plant rose bushes next week..."

Malfoy led her from the room, still sniffling. Hermione followed after them, mumbling under her breath.

"I'll have your job for this!" Judge Walledge called after her. "Come tomorrow morning, you'll be serving butterbeer at The Leaky Cauldron. I won't stand for this kind of treatment!"

Hermione reached the door just after Malfoy and Melanie had gone through it. She plastered a professional smile of apology on her face and took a deep breath before turning around to face the judge. She automatically repeated the same line she'd said dozens of times.

"I apologize for any offense we have caused. If you would like to make a complaint, you may owl our office directly, and someone will be in touch." Hermione turned and left, pulling the door closed behind her.

After talking with Melanie for half an hour, they left her in the garden and started their walk back across the grounds toward the mansion.

They passed by the small plot of land where Melanie said they'd planned to plant roses. Candor had already prepared the earth; Melanie tearily recounted how he'd always done the hardest of the work for her.

"I think it's safe to say dear Miss Walledge is in the clear," Malfoy remarked casually.

"Why were you so rude to her? Did you need to remind her that her fiancé was dead at that PRECISE moment?"

"I needed to gauge her reaction. The depth of her despair. Her tears were genuine. She's innocent. Her father, on the other hand-"

"His house elf claims he was at home all evening." Hermione shook her head.

"Silly Granger. House elves lie. They serve their masters with total, unwilling loyalty. It's a big reason why they're excellent servants," he said, winking.

"I'm going to ignore that remark. Of course I realize the elf may be lying. But our hands are tied. He has an alibi and I can't legally challenge it without having reasonable suspicion that he's committed a crime. Besides, Melanie was clearly struggling to remember her story about what she was doing the night of the murder."

"Well, Veritaserum would-"

"Is illegal, as I'm sure you know-"

"That's never stopped me from using it in my personal quest for justice."

Hermione muttered a Silencing Charm in case he decided to reveal anything else best kept secret.

"...I'm going to ignore that remark, too."

"Probably for the best."

They walked a few more minutes in silence, only resuming their conversation on the steps to the front door.

"Just do me a favor, please. When you next come up with these ridiculous plans to test out the emotional reactions of our victims, could you warn me first? It would make it easier if I knew what was coming." Hermione opened the door for them both, intending to quickly let the judge know they were departing.

"Did you just refer to the living, breathing Miss Walledge as a victim, Granger? Of murder? Because I thought it was you who said that the only victim here is the dead wizard." He gestured for her to enter the foyer first.

"Well. She was...distraught. Very visibly affected." Hermione said. "But you're right-she's not in the same position as Mr. Candor-"

"No, no. I quite agree, Granger. Miss Walledge is a victim in her own right. She may not be dead, but part of her might wish she was right now. If anything, she's a more tragic victim. She will suffer longer than Candor did, at least. Perhaps years will go by before she stops blaming herself for not insisting he spend fewer evenings at the office."

Once again, the conversation had turned personal, and Hermione sighed.

"Malfoy...I-"

He held up his hand to stop her speaking as he closed the door behind them.

"We're all eventually victims of something, Granger. It's just a matter of when it's your turn."

He held her gaze, his own eyes so intense she didn't dare look away. After a moment, he seemed to grow bored and pursed his lips.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I can't take anymore depressing interviews. What do you say we liven things up a bit?"

Granger immediately tensed with suspicion, no doubt detecting his excitement.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I've pretty much figured out who the killer is. But for your sake, Granger, I've worked out a plan to get you the proof you need."

"That's just splendid. I'm sure whatever-"

"It starts now. Immediately. You might want to stand back a bit-"

"What-"

Granger heard a door behind her open suddenly and looked over her shoulder to see a wild-eyed Marcus Greene bursting into view. He'd obviously not heard them enter thanks to the Silencing Charm and emerged from his hiding place hoping to escape unnoticed.

"Ah! Here he is. I'm a little surprised you came out so quickly, but your loss is our gain."

"He can't hear you," Granger said, not taking her eyes off Greene, who resembled a Petrified ghost. Granger muttered the counter spell and Draco felt the Silencing Charm dissipate.

"Miss Granger-what a surprise-"

"Mr. Greene, what exactly are you doing here at your employer's home? In the middle of the workday? Have something important you need to discuss?"

"Well-yes-an important client has-I mean to say, there's been a development in an important account...a very important case-"

"I'm sure it is very, very important," Granger said, and Draco smirked at her thick sarcasm. He watched Greene's eyes shift toward the door, then back to Granger, and knew what was coming. Or going. "Why don't we go down to the Ministry and you can tell us all about-"

But Greene was already bolting for the door, blasting it open with his wand, and firing a curse at Granger over his shoulder as he ran. She was after him so quickly Draco leaned back on his heels, impressed. He'd never seen her run before, and it startled him how agile she was as she leapt over the shattered pieces of the door and down the steps, calling after Greene to stop.

Draco shuffled over to the hole in the wall and watched as Granger chased Greene close to the boundary where the Anti-Apparition device would cease to stop him. She shot hexes at him, brilliant light flashing from her wand and barely missing him each time. Draco estimated she had about five meters to go before Greene would disappear, and he doubted they'd ever find him.

"Come on, Granger! Put your back into it!" he half screamed, half laughed. Then Granger finally closed the distance and her shouted Stunning spell hit its mark. Greene pitched forward and collapsed hard into the dirt, grunting in pain.

She jumped on top of Greene as his body fell, rolling him onto his stomach. She grasped both of his wrists and held them together behind his back, then used her wand to cast a Binding spell. Silver light streamed out of her wand, wove itself around Greene's wrists, then solidified and turned black. Granger leaned back on her haunches and wiped her arm against the beads of sweat at her hairline. Then she searched Greene's pockets until she found his wand, hiding it in her own robes.

Draco couldn't help himself. He smiled wider than he had in-well, he wasn't sure how long. But it felt good.

"Well done, Granger! This has made my afternoon." As he stepped over the remains of the door and walked briskly toward them, the witch with even frizzier hair than usual wiped her palms on her thighs and stood, tossing him an annoyed look with just a hint of a prideful smile.

Then she glared down at Marcus Greene.

"Just so you know, attacking an Auror is grounds for disbarment and a minimum of one year in Azkaban," she snapped, looking as though she wanted to kick him.

"Fuck off, Mudblood!" Greene said, through a mouthful of dirt. Draco chuckled at the irony, stopping a few feet from them to marvel at what he'd witnessed: his first arrest! For some reason, it was more thrilling than he had imagined. It wasn't just the escape attempt; it was something else he couldn't grasp at the moment, so he filed the memory of it all away for later amusement.

"Oh, how original! What will they think of next?" Granger rolled her eyes and caught Draco's amused ones. "Help me with this?"

Draco quirked an eyebrow, knowing Granger was fully capable, but used his own wand to levitate Greene to his feet. His nose was a bit bloody and his robes were smeared with dirt and shredded where he'd tumbled across the earth. Granger cast a Muffliato spell on him before he could spew more hateful nicknames.

"There. Would you like to do the honours?"

"What do you mean?"

Granger smiled, then began reciting Greene's rights under Wizarding law. She looked more than pleased with herself, a picture of the old Hermione Granger from Draco's youth. As he watched her, listened to her haughty voice reciting the words from memory, he felt his smile slip from his face. He remembered who he was with, and their entire history seemed to engulf him, and none of that history was good.

But today wasn't so bad. Today was...different. Fun.

Granger finally finished, and the satisfied smirk lit up her eyes, and Draco realized she was quite pretty at times. Not beautiful in a conventional manner; quite average, actually. But when she smiled, it was another matter. Though thirty, she embodied youth, and vitality, and fresh perspective.

"What's wrong? Do I have dirt on my face?" She asked, and he blinked to shake himself free of wandering thoughts. She was waiting for a response, her face closing down with concern. She reached up with one hand to rub her nose.

"No. There's nothing on your face, Granger," he said solemnly. He couldn't explain why, but he felt miserable all over again. Empty. And horribly jealous of Granger, which was the worst.

They said nothing, just stared at each other, while Greene stood rooted to the spot by Granger's spell, his lips snarling soundlessly. He was comically struggling to free himself from the chain that bound him when they heard angry shouts and running footsteps.

"Just what in Merlin's name do you think you are doing?!" Judge Walledge shouted from a few meters away. "Why have you arrested my employee?" His daughter was just behind him, staring open-mouthed at Greene's current state, but she said nothing.

"Sir," Granger said, her tone impatient, "Mr. Greene ran from us and attempted to curse me. Did you know he was hiding in your home?" Her voice gave away that she already expected the judge was going to lie to her.

Draco watched as his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. The man's eyes darkened significantly, and his voice was cool and collected: the authoritative voice of a man who recognized he must word his response with utmost care.

"Of course not. I was not expecting his company today. This is most upsetting, considering poor Deacon's death." He narrowed his eyes at Greene and frowned almost imperceptibly. "One has to wonder if his intent was to do harm to me or my daughter."

Greene stopped trying to speak. His eyes widened in shock. He turned deathly pale.

When Draco sought Granger's eyes, they were already looking at him. One eyebrow arched delicately, and he noticed she held a white-knuckled grip on her wand at her side. She was thinking exactly what he was.

"I'm afraid I'm going to need you and Miss Walledge to join us at the Ministry, Judge. Please come directly. If you Side-Along, I can take you straight to my office. We can bypass the lobby and avoid a scene. I'll be able to take all of you at once." She smoothed her dirty robes and gestured for Draco to take Greene's arm to Side-Along Apparate. She walked the short distance to Melanie, holding out her hand. The girl took it, looking too stunned to protest.

"This is outrageous!" Walledge griped, but he took Granger's proffered arm anyway. "I've answered every one of your questions-"

"Surely not every question, Judge," Draco smirked, gripping the torn fabric of Greene's robes at his shoulder. Smirking again, he caught her narrowed eyes. "If I know Granger, the questions could keep coming forever."

Granger ignored him as she grabbed his hand with her free one, but just before they Apparated, she called him a wanker under her breath.

-:-

Once inside her office, Hermione felt a great deal of relief wash over her. In this place, she had the upper hand. The entire floor was a no-Apparition zone unless a wizard was to Side-Along with an Auror, so she didn't have to worry about any of the suspects escaping.

She glanced briefly at the memo Mafalda had left on her desk from the Ministry technicians. They'd checked Candor's wand for recent spells and hadn't found anything unusual. The list of spells seemed in line with his normal day as described by Melanie and a few of Candor's work colleagues. She passed the memo to Malfoy, who skimmed it briefly and clicked his tongue, but said nothing.

The air crackled as she set up additional wards on each interview room, preventing anyone from leaving without her assistance.

"Mr. Greene, I'd like you to wait here with Mr. Malfoy. I'll be back momentarily." She was polite and professional again, the chase from earlier pushed to the back of her mind. Dwelling on it would only make her angry, and she had a feeling she would need every ounce of patience to deal with the judge's evasive behavior.

Greene looked as though he was about to spit on her, and Malfoy seemed to realize it, too. He chuckled and prodded the seething man into the room behind them, shaking his head.

"I wouldn't if I were you, mate. She'll only kick your arse. Again."

Hermione caught Malfoy's eyes and bobbed her head once, waiting for him to close and lock the door before moving the other two suspects to their own room.

"Hermione!" Luna called urgently, half running down the hall. Her eyes shone with excitement. "It's-we've found something. The footage from WandLock-we might have found Mr. Candor's killer!" She grinned so widely her lips nearly reached her eyes. Hermione smiled; the girl was so thrilled to have found evidence on her first real case. Pride swelled within her as she turned to follow Luna back toward the bullpen.

"Excellent! Let's see it, then. Where's Neville?"

"He's setting things up so we can see the video. He's in his office."

-:-

"Well, Marcus," Draco drawled, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. "It seems to me like you're in quite the predicament." As he let go of his breath, long grey tendrils of smoke curled outward across the table, toward a sickly looking Greene.

"Can you even ask me any questions without your Mudblood master here?" he sneered, leaning back in his chair. He placed his bound hands on the table in front of him. Draco's face remained impassive.

"I work for the Ministry now. Kingsley Shacklebolt himself awarded me the authority to act on Granger's behalf if necessary," he lied smoothly. He was having an immense amount of fun.

"I'm not saying anything without my lawyer."

Ah, yes. This one wouldn't be easy.

"I expected as much," he shrugged. "But I wonder who will come to defend you, now that you've alienated yourself from all your colleagues. Stepped on one too many backs to get where you are, my friend. Of course, it's your right to retain legal counsel, but it's in your best interest to realize you'll probably get stuck with a run-of-the-mill bloke. No one with any real talent. And once they get here, the deal I'm going to offer you will be off the table." He put his cigarette to his lips again, hiding his smirk as he waited for his words to sink in.

Greene's eyes grew wide for a moment, then narrowed into thin slits.

"Nice try. I'm not an bloody idiot. But..." he said grumpily, and Draco knew that look of insatiable intrigue when he saw it. "Tell me about your deal. I could use a laugh." He held up his shackled wrists.

Draco leaned forward conspiratorially, grinding his cigarette out on the table. Granger would make him pay for it, of course.

"In exchange for the name of Candor's murderer, you'll walk away a free wizard. We'll forget that you attacked an Auror. The Ministry will hail you as a hero. They won't be able to deny that you saved their arses by helping close such an important case." Draco grinned, watching as the wheels turned in Greene's head. His eyes darted between Draco's face and his bound hands. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly.

"You don't understand," he said through clenched teeth. "I can't just give you a name. I'll walk out of here only to be killed within the hour-"

"No names, then. Just information. Whatever you can give me. If it leads to the killer's capture, you're free to disappear."

Greene made a noise between a laugh and a groan. He sat silently, and Draco knew every thought as he had it, even without Legilimency. Greene imagined himself locked in Azkaban, in a cold, dark cell, listening to the leering taunts of wizards he'd had convicted and sent there to rot. He saw himself receiving the Dementor's kiss, his face becoming even paler as a vision of a soulless zombie played in his mind. Then, Draco noticed the lines of his face relax infinitesimally as he fantasized about sharing just enough information to escape, run away, and live in hiding. He'd lose his titles, his credibility, and likely all his possessions, but at least he'd have his soul.

What was left of it.

Greene looked up at Draco with more determination, but still overwhelmed by fear. Tension radiated from him as he made a decision.

"All I'll say is, Candor found out something he shouldn't. He came to me to ask how to handle it, but didn't say what he knew...just that it would be bad for the firm. Decided he'd grow himself a conscience and wanted to go to the Prophet with his story. I warned him against doing so. My involvement ends there."

"Eh, you're lying." Draco grinned broadly, relaxing in his chair. "You didn't kill him, I already knew that. But you are involved in Candor's death somehow. Come on, just let it out. It'll be better for you to tell us before we find out."

Greene leaned away, putting his hands in his lap. He wouldn't be saying anything else. Draco had learned everything he needed to, anyway.

"Oh. I don't really expect you'll tell me, but just out of curiosity, what were you doing at the Walledge Estate? We both know it had nothing to do with a client."

Greene's mouth twisted downward at the corners.

"Send me to Azkaban. I've got nothing to say."

Draco shrugged again, standing up and preparing to open the door.

"Nice chatting with you."

"Wait. That's it? Aren't you going to-"

"As soon as we can verify your story, you'll go free, though we are quite busy. I can't promise you won't be here a while."

Draco stepped outside and locked Greene inside, then meandered down the hallway toward the bullpen. Granger, Longbottom and Lovegood were just coming out of Longbottom's office.

"Malfoy," Granger said authoritatively. "Come take a look at this."

-:-

Hermione settled into her seat beside Malfoy, across the table from Judge Walledge and his daughter. They both were looking anywhere but at each other, a fact she didn't miss. She opened the folder she'd placed on the table, then addressed them both.

"Well, we've just seen some very interesting footage of the night Candor was killed. Knowing that, do either of you have anything you'd like to say?" She looked from one to the other. Neither spoke.

"Granger would like to get home to her cat, if you please," Malfoy chimed in. Hermione felt her face flush, but she didn't acknowledge him.

"No comments? In that case, allow me to briefly go over what's on the tapes. Miss Walledge," she said, and the girl's face blanched, "we have you on video entering Walledge, Whitford and Hendricks at six-fifteen the night your fiancé died. We know Candor met you at the front entrance in the lobby and helped you get inside." Hermione selected several photographs taken from the video and slid them toward the judge and Melanie, watching their reactions carefully. "After that, the tape was tampered with...there's nothing there for another hour. The cameras at both exits were offline. When they come back on, we never see you leaving the building, so we have to assume you'd already left. No one else shows up all night. Do you know how this looks, Melanie?"

"Oh, she probably just wanted to see how secure her fiance's building was. Concerned about his safety, working long hours. Am I right, Melanie?" Malfoy asked, and his voice wasn't the least bit ironic. He was actually trying to help her. The girl's lips drew together in a hard line.

"Don't say a word until our lawyer gets here, darling," the judge warned, sliding closer to his daughter and grasping her hand. Hermione noticed her feebly try to pull it away.

"Melanie, I have to ask you: did you kill Deacon Candor?" Hermione said softly, feeling simultaneous sympathy and doubt of the girl's innocence. She'd been very convincing before, but Muggle surveillance tape didn't lie. However, Hermione felt deep in her gut that she wasn't the killer. It was one of those things she couldn't put her finger on. Melanie was culpable in some way, perhaps, but Hermione could feel that she had loved her fiancé dearly; she was still relieved when the girl denied her guilt.

"No, I could never," she gasped, closing her eyes tightly. "Please put those away," she gestured to the photos. "They-they remind me. If I'd stayed...if he'd come home to me like I begged him to...he would still be alive," she mumbled, tears forming in her eyes. "It's my fault."

The judge rubbed her arm, shushing her. Malfoy leaned forward.

"Why did you go there, Melanie? What compelled you? It wasn't a typical thing for you to go to his office, was it?" Hermione glanced sideways at his choice of words.

"No, well...What-do you mean? I was just-" her eyes widened. "I can't...I went to say hello. To ask how much longer he'd be?" She broke off, sounding confused. She looked to her father for reassurance. "I know I should've told you before that I went there last night, but…I thought it would sound-"

"Darling, you don't have to say anything else. Our lawyer will be here any minute!"

"You can't remember, can you? Why you went in the first place?" Malfoy placed both hands on the table, keeping the girl's teary gaze. "Melanie, what did you do once Deacon let you in?"

"I-we went upstairs. To his office. We talked a while-then I left-"

"Before you went upstairs. Did you do anything else?" He was insistent. Hermione knew where he was going with his questions, and she felt excited too. He had Melanie fixed in his gaze, looking unable to tear herself away. Hermione wondered if he had hypnotized her with wandless magic.

"I...talked to Tiffany? But I don't remember what about. I've never talked to her before." Her face screwed up with disgust, causing Malfoy to chuckle.

"Ah, Mel, don't fret. I believe you were under the Imperius Curse. Someone forced you to go inside-"

"No!" She interrupted, fire suddenly in her eyes. "I didn't kill Deacon! I loved him! I loved him no matter what-"

"That's enough, Melanie!" The judge hissed, tightening his grip on her arm. She winced, silenced. Hermione scowled.

"Okay," she said firmly, "Mr. Malfoy and I do not believe you killed Deacon. But we think whoever Imperiused you may be the person responsible for his death. That's why we need you to answer these questions now, okay?" She collected the photographs and sealed them back in her folder, then folded her hands on top of it. Melanie nodded sadly, her eyes shining.

"I honestly...don't remember why I went there. I remember seeing him, and being happy to see him...but I feel...that wasn't why I went, if that makes sense? It's sort of jumbled...but I think my reason for going was to see Tiffany." She blinked, seeming surprised at herself. Malfoy reached out and took one of her hands.

"And you have no memory of what you said to her?"

"No," she shook her head. "That part is totally blank. The rest is hazy, but I only remember telling her I needed to speak with her, and then it's all black."

Hermione was listening intently, but she was watching the judge as his sneer grew deeper and more twisted. Her mind barely had a chance to register that Melanie was crying again when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Hermione called, unlocking the door with her wand.

A tall, broad-shouldered wizard with wavy dark hair wearing green robes strode into the room, carrying a thick sheave of parchment and a quill. He glanced between the other four people in the room, then cleared his throat and spoke with a French accent.

"I can see I'm just in time. I am Phillippe Moreau, 'ere to serve as attorney for Mr. Walledge and 'is daughter. Please allow me a moment to confer with my clients."

Hermione held back her sigh. A few more minutes and maybe they'd have gotten more out of Melanie. Now there was little chance she'd utter another word.

"Oh, that won't be necessary. Melanie and the good Judge are free to leave," Malfoy said confidently. Alarm bells went off in Hermione's head.

"What! Malfoy, you can't-"

"You heard them, Granger. Mel says she's innocent. Can't remember a thing, so really she's of no further use to us. I'm sure the judge here wants to take her home so they can grieve Candor's loss properly." He looked at them both sympathetically. "I'm sorry you've had to endure such grueling inquiry-"

"I haven't asked why Mr. Greene was in your home yet, Mr. Walledge," Hermione interjected. Malfoy waved his hand.

"Didn't you hear him? He already explained Mr. Greene was there without his knowledge. If you ask me, he probably killed Candor and was there to plant evidence. These two," he jerked his thumb at them, "couldn't hurt a bloody Pygmy Puff."

Hermione glared at him, her intentions to disembowel him perfectly clear. He stared right back, his molten silver eyes delighting in her challenge. When she felt they'd been silent too long, she clicked her teeth and forced herself to smile.

"I need to consult with Mr. Malfoy a moment. Excuse us." She stood, taking her folder, and didn't wait to see if Malfoy followed. He must've known she meant business, though, because he was at her side when the door closed behind them. She rounded on him immediately.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?! You don't have the authority-"

He was holding up his hands in a supplicant gesture, smirking arrogantly.

"I have a plan, Granger. Don't get your knickers in a twist. You hired me for my insight, correct? Just trust me. We need to let them go. All of them. That's the only way to catch the killer and the accomplices."

"We can't let Greene go. He attacked an Auror...if Walledge is telling the truth, he also broke into someone's home with questionable intent." She sighed, rubbing her temples. For a moment, she thought about what step she would take next if she didn't take Malfoy's advice. The process would be very slow, indeed, with no concrete evidence to hold anyone on. They could charge Greene with the attack, and perhaps breaking unlawfully into a residence, but she knew he wouldn't talk about Candor anymore. Before she could stop herself, she said, "What if they try to run?"

"They won't," he sighed, then placed one hand on her shoulder. The gesture threw Hermione off enough that she allowed him to continue. He leaned in, close enough she could feel his breath on her face. "Walledge and Melanie think we believe they're both innocent. Why should they run? Running would only make them suspects again. Same for Greene. He'll be too happy he was let go to dare make a wrong move. What we need is to make them think we are close to finding out what Candor knew that was so dangerous to the firm. We let them think Candor had it all written down somewhere, and just wait for them to seek it out. The conscience always betrays the guilty, in the end." He released her and straightened, his hand already on the doorknob.

"Wait. I thought you said you didn't think Melanie was guilty?" she asked, feeling it necessary to convince him his plan was foolish, because she was certain he would break no less than a thousand laws to carry it out. "What will it prove to do this if they're all innocent?"

"Patience, Granger," Malfoy drawled, rolling his eyes. "Like a first year in Charms class, you are."

He opened the door to the interrogation room again and at that very moment, Hermione knew she'd lost control.

-:-

After speaking individually with each of the suspects, feeding each of them the same fabricated story to stir their imaginations, Draco was pleased to get to participate in his first stake-out. Tiffany, Judge Walledge, Melanie, Marcus Greene, and even the pub owner had one reason or another to kill Candor. Now they only had to wait to see which one showed themselves as guilty.

Draco made certain they all fully believed Candor had scandalous information hidden somewhere, possibly in a diary and most likely at the law firm. He assured them all the Ministry was close to finding it, but not to worry; as soon as Candor's secret was out, the killer would be exposed and they could all get back to their normal lives.

Tiffany had been the second of their suspects to insist that while she was technically the first employee to know the new security codes, she had no memory of giving the after-hours code to anyone, or even speaking to Melanie Walledge. Suspiciously, her memory of the evening Candor was killed was also distorted, partially blotted out, but she had been afraid to say so for fear of leaving herself without an alibi.

Wood was walking Tiffany back to the Ministry lobby so she could Floo home, as it was well past closing at Walledge, Whitford and Hendricks. Normally, Granger's team would be on their way home as well, but the clock was ticking on Draco's plan; it was now or never.

"Alright. Everyone is in place," Granger said. Her furrowed brow and down turned lips spoke volumes about how ridiculous she thought this was. For some reason, Draco actually wanted her to see it from his side.

"Just relax. This is foolproof. What are you afraid of?"

"Just the obvious. And nothing is foolproof," she said, leaning against the wall of the empty office directly across from Deacon Candor's. The door was closed and it was nearly pitch black; only the dimly lit tip of her wand provided light. Draco sat unperturbed in the cushioned chair behind the desk. His eyes adjusted well to darkness, as he'd lived most of his life consumed by it.

"Like what? We could be hexed by whoever shows up? Unlikely. Your entire team is here. You're an excellent witch. Next?" He crossed his arms, knowing by her silence that his compliment caused her to blush.

"They could escape-"

"You have your Anti-Apparition device. Wood is by the stairs, and Longbottom and Lovegood have the exits covered. Anything else?"

"I don't know. This has to be entrapment. Or...or..."

"We aren't luring anyone to commit a criminal offense, Granger. They've already killed someone. We're just catching them in the act of removing evidence."

He could barely see it, but he was able to discern her surprised look.

"What? I read a lot."

"Of course you do," she said, her tone scalding. "Now, be quiet. I shouldn't have even brought you here. You could be hurt-"

"Hermione? I can see someone coming up the walk. Probably fifteen meters away," Lovegood's voice echoed in both Draco and Granger's ears, thanks to a helpful Muggle device. It had been improved upon by magic so that it was not hindered by distance or interference, and was completely invisible. Draco begrudgingly admitted to himself that it was superior to Extendable Ears.

"Can you tell who it is?" Granger asked, looking directly at Draco. Her entire body was on alert as soon as she had heard Lovegood's whispered warning.

"No. They're hooded. I'm certain they haven't seen me. Neville's Disillusionment Charm is remarkable."

"What are they doing now?" Granger asked.

"They're putting in the code to the door...now they're going inside," Lovegood finished. "And I'm to wait here?"

"Yes. Thank you, Luna. Oliver, what is your status?"

"At the base of the stairs. I see them walking to the lift."

"Thank you. Stay where you are. Malfoy and I are in the office directly across from Candor's."

"Okay. Lift doors have closed. They're going up."

"Okay. Neville, any activity at the rear entrance?"

"Nothing, Boss. Dead quiet out here."

"Okay. Now we wait."

She swallowed, and Draco took a moment to really look at her. Her shoulders were square, firm but poised grip on her wand. Her feet slightly apart, eyes focused on what she could see through the little window in the office door.

He was impressed to note that she seemed only mildly concerned the plan would fail miserably; she was worried for her team's safety, of course. She placed their wellbeing above all else. But she wasn't afraid for herself, or really for Draco. Draco recognized the look of readiness and discipline on her face from a time when a war had torn the Wizarding world apart, and acknowledged that if not the bravest witch on earth, she was at least in the top three.

He was suddenly glad she would be the one helping him track down Elias Grey. If anyone could be successful at finding him, it was Hermione Granger.

The noise of the lift doors sliding open snapped Draco out of his wandering thoughts. Granger crouched down slightly, extinguishing the light of her wand.

"Suspect has arrived on Candor's floor," she murmured. "Stand by."

Footsteps approached quietly. Draco got up from his chair and silently made his way to Granger's side. A faint light in the hallway slowly came closer, clearly emanating from the tip of someone's wand.

His heart began to beat faster; they could very well be in mortal danger, despite his earlier levity. He prided himself on being able to read the majority of people quite easily, but that didn't mean he hadn't made his share of mistakes. Perhaps he had misread one of them, and they were slightly more homicidal than he'd thought. Maybe they'd seen through this ruse and thought to bring others, hiding under invisibility cloaks, with Silencing Charms muffling their footsteps.

Draco could hear Granger's soft breaths, unhurried and calm. He realized she had already thought along these lines; her job required it. She did this for a living. He was way, way out of his league. He'd spent more than half his life as a coward and the instinct to find safer shelter was deeply ingrained in him.

"They're going inside Candor's office," Granger remarked, her voice even and cool.

"Noted," Wood replied.

"They've closed the door behind them. Malfoy and I will intercept."

"No, wait," Malfoy murmured, touching her arm carefully. "We should wait until they've found what they're looking for, then follow them. They'll be going to meet their accomplice. They won't be far."

"You can't know that. That's not the plan, Malfoy. We didn't prepare for that eventuality." Granger's hand slipped to the doorknob.

"You know there's no way one person did this alone. They had to have help to get around all the security measures. Trust me, Granger. Wait."

"Why didn't you mention this before?"

"I'm excited, and I forgot. First time for everything." He shrugged nonchalantly.

"Boss, what's the plan?" Longbottom asked, sounding slightly panicked.

Granger didn't move. She glanced out the window again, and Draco could see the suspect's wand light moving about the room through Candor's office window.

They only had moments to make a decision.

Granger near-growled with frustration, and Draco grinned in return.

"We wait. Everyone stay where you are. When our suspect leaves, we will follow them as closely as possible. If they get too close to the boundary of the Anti-Apparition wards, we'll have to stop them."

Granger waited for three affirmative responses, then glared at Draco.

"You'd better be right about this, Malfoy."

"What do you take me for? I know what I'm doing," he said indignantly, just as Granger held up a hand to silence him.

"They're coming out. Here we go. Everyone, be ready."

The figure emerged from Candor's office carrying a small book. Longbottom had placed ward after ward on it; sloppy ones that any fool with magic could sense, and easy enough to remove, but time-consuming. The suspect wouldn't dare wait in the office to inspect the book's contents, as Draco had predicted. They softly closed the office door behind them and made for the lift again, walking quickly.

"They're in a hurry. Don't want to keep their accomplice waiting," Draco whispered.

"Or they're scared of being caught at a crime scene," Granger said grumpily. They waited until the figure had disappeared behind the lift doors before stepping into the hallway.

"Okay. Let's go," Granger held her wand poised at her side, heading for the door to the stairwell. "Follow closely behind me. Take out your wand. Don't let your guard down," she ordered. "If anything happens to me, you need to be prepared to defend yourself."

"Don't you think you're overreacting?"

She didn't answer, but Draco took out his wand anyway.

They descended quickly. So quickly Draco realized he loathed stairs and resolved to avoid them at every future opportunity. His thighs burned as he ran after Granger; she was so much faster than she looked. Maybe it didn't show outwardly, but years of maintaining his family's company had taken its toll on Draco's body. He decided as soon as this was over, he was devoting himself to getting into better shape. Maybe next week, after his legs weren't sore anymore.

"We are near to the lobby."

"I see you," came Wood's monotone reply. "Suspect is coming off the lift."

Panting, Draco stopped just in time to avoid running into Granger's back. She joined Wood at the door to the stairs; they stood closely together to look out the window toward the lift.

"I still can't tell who it is," Wood grumbled.

"No matter. They could be using Polyjuice Potion anyway."

"Doubtful. Why hide their face with a hood if it isn't their own?" Draco said, trying to stifle his gasps.

"Good point," Granger said, somewhat begrudgingly. "Neville, he's heading toward the rear of the building. Luna, go around to help Neville. We're on our way."

"I'm coming, Neville." Lovegood's voice.

"Boss, something's happening," Longbottom said urgently, his voice buzzing in Draco's ear. "There's someone approaching from the south. It's-it looks like a man. I'm certain it's a man."

"How descriptive," Draco said, rolling his eyes.

"Don't intercept them. We're coming." Granger gestured for Wood and Draco to follow her. She held her wand out in front as she pushed open the stairwell door, turned right and soundlessly followed in the direction the hooded figure had gone. Wood was close behind, and Draco followed at a safe distance, crouching down, his wand drawn.

They passed Tiffany's large desk, their shoes moving swiftly over the marble floor, which seemed to glow in the moonlight streaming through the building's large windows.

They slipped through a kitchenette and lounge area, down a short hallway lined with more offices, and finally into another lobby at the rear of the building, smaller than the one at the front. This entrance was used mostly by employees and famous clients, so they could avoid the press. Draco imagined that some of the wizards and witches he knew personally had slipped through these doors, though he doubted their passage was guided by moonlight.

"We've reached the exit. What do you see, Neville?" Granger whispered, looking left and right as far as she was able through the many windows lining the lobby.

"Both suspects are just now meeting. I can't hear what they're saying, but body language suggests an argument."

"Right. Activate your Anti-Apparition device now. Do you see the book?"

"Yes."

"As soon as the book changes hands, we will move in. Not before then. Luna, are you with Neville?"

"I'm on the opposite side of the walk, but I can see the suspects. They're definitely arguing, but I can't make out over what."

"Okay."

Everyone fell silent, and the minutes seemed to drag on infinitely. Draco was just about to pull out a cigarette to distract himself from the deep shit he'd gotten himself into when Neville's voice sounded again.

"The book has been exchanged."

"That's it. We're up," Granger said. She looked pointedly at Draco. "Malfoy, stay inside. Don't intervene. You are not an Auror. Are we clear?"

Her eyes bore into him, daring him to challenge her. On this point, he knew it was better to refrain.

"I understand," he said, and she nodded. Then she turned to the door again, pressing her right shoulder and hand against it. Her left hand clutched tightly on to her wand. Her eyes found Wood's and he nodded to communicate his readiness.

Draco's heart thumped rapidly in his chest as he watched; he felt alive for the first time in so many years.

Granger's single word echoed through his head like a clap of raucous thunder:

"Now."

-:-

An hour later, Judge Henry Walledge and his daughter were back at the Ministry, in separate interrogation rooms. Both had been checked for Polyjuice Potion and given the chance to share their side of the story.

Walledge had been quick to blame Melanie for his appearance at the law office. He claimed she had called him using her Patronus, distraught, saying she needed his help disposing of evidence that she'd killed her fiancé. He'd only come, so he said, to talk her into turning herself in.

Once Hermione had explained this to Melanie, the poor girl broke down into miserable choking sobs. She said she once again had no idea what she'd been doing at the law office or why she'd stolen the book, and couldn't account for why her father was there, either. But she wouldn't entertain the thought he could somehow try to pin Candor's murder on her. That seemed to frighten her most of all.

"Why would he say that?" She cried. Malfoy handed her a Conjured handkerchief. She took it, wiping her eyes. "He knows how much I loved Deacon. He said our affection for each other was undeniable! His exact words!" Melanie blew her nose, but the tears weren't stopping. Hermione raised an eyebrow in Malfoy's direction.

"Right," he said, and took Melanie's hand. "Listen, I know you're feeling intense grief, but I need you to see your father now. Just for a few minutes. Can you do that for me?" he asked gently, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand.

Melanie nodded jerkily, her eyes still leaking salty tears.

"Good. Please come this way."

All three of them stood, Hermione hanging back to observe whatever tricks Malfoy had up his sleeve.

Malfoy released Melanie's hand and gestured for her to accompany him into the hallway. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder, glancing at Hermione behind them.

When they reached the door to Interrogation Room 4, Hermione unlocked the door to allow Melanie to enter. Malfoy held it open, watching Hermione's stern face as the younger witch slipped out of view.

Hermione stepped closer to him, speaking quietly so no one would hear.

"Is this the part where you unmask the killer in the most theatrical way possible?"

Malfoy grinned at her, clearly enjoying her skepticism.

"You make it sound like you aren't looking forward to it." He ducked into the interrogation room before she could hex him.

-:-

"So, here we are again," Hermione sighed as she took the seat beside Malfoy. Melanie, Walledge and a bleary-eyed Phillippe Moreau sat across from them. "Except now, there's this." She placed the book from Candor's office on the table between them, its red leather binding nearly vibrating with magic. "Sorry you didn't get the chance to read it; it's quite informative."

The judge narrowed his eyes, refusing to speak. Hermione cast an expectant look at Malfoy. He smiled crookedly and winked at her. Then he cleared his throat and his face slipped into a serious, business-like mask, though his eyes still danced with mirth.

"Well, I'm not afraid of making everybody uncomfortable. Melanie, your father killed Deacon. Oh, and he's sleeping with his receptionist."

Melanie's red rimmed, swollen eyes grew enormously wide, and her next sob died in her throat. "I-I beg your pardon?"

Judge Walledge said nothing, choosing to seethe silently in his chair.

"Just a moment," Moreau interrupted, holding up a finger. "Do you 'ave any proof to back up zees accusations?"

"Of course we do," Malfoy said, waving a hand dismissively. Hermione glared at the side of his face. He knew very well everything was entirely circumstantial, and likely would not hold up in court against the team of lawyers Moreau would assemble.

"My clients would like to 'ear it."

"Absolutely," Malfoy said, then he leaned forward slightly, more out of eagerness than anything, Hermione thought. He was about to solve a puzzle, in record time, thus proving himself the smartest man in the room. He was in his element.

"Judge," he began, smirking at the man in question, "you never liked Candor. That much was apparent. You tolerated him because Melanie liked him, but you thought the romance would die soon enough. You wanted to keep an eye on him, though, so you gave him a top-level office and a job at your own firm. But after a time, you even started to resent your own daughter, feeling she had betrayed you by falling for a Muggle-born. Do you deny it?" Malfoy pointed at the judge, unable to hide his half-smile.

The judge leered back at him.

"I thought as well of him as he deserved."

"Right. I'll take that as a 'no.'" Malfoy grinned wider. "Everything was fine for a few months, until Candor proved he deserved the job. He won cases on his own, without compromising his character. He was intelligent and was brought up in a Muggle home, so he could relate to both Pureblood and Muggle-born clients. He was highly requested, and you couldn't fire him then, even if Melanie's relationship with him went sour. But it didn't, and that was what really bothered you.

"You started to feel lonely. Your daughter was happy and her engagement only reminded you that you'd be living alone soon. You allowed yourself a companion of your own, someone you had enough power over that you could be sure the affair would be kept quiet: Tiffany."

Melanie gasped again, eyeing her father as though seeing him for the first time. His face remained unchanged. He didn't look at his daughter, or ask his lawyer to intervene. He only listened as though removed from it all.

"You pay her very well, that much is clear. She was dressed in expensive robes, too expensive for someone on a receptionist's salary. She may not care for her job, but the perks are certainly worth keeping. You need only ask her to come, and I bet she pops right over. It isn't like her boss would fire her," he chuckled to himself. He rose to his feet, stretching languidly. "Sorry. Granger here ran me ragged down a thousand flights of stairs."

"Malfoy," Hermione warned, but she had to admit she was intrigued. He was gliding through this so easily. It was like watching the climax of a Shakespearean play while listening to the crescendo of a masterful symphony.

"Anyway," Malfoy continued, going to lean against the wall facing Walledge, "one day, Candor finds out something you didn't want him to know. Something that would be detrimental to your business. Your reputation. He tells Greene about it, and Greene is so desperate for you to notice him that he runs directly to you. Candor unfortunately put his trust in the wrong person."

Hermione detected a note of sadness in his tone, and she found herself focusing harder on his eyes, which seemed to dim at the mention of misplaced trust.

"You knew you'd never talk Candor out of revealing what he knew; he was just that kind of wizard. Honest to a fault, a terrible trait for a lawyer. You knew what you had to do. So you figured you'd kill him, so cleverly, and make it appear as though Melanie had done it. She certainly had motive for revenge; how much were you going to pay Tiffany to claim she'd had an affair with Candor?" Malfoy suddenly asked, looking interested.

The judge continued his impenetrable silence, glowering at Malfoy with ill-disguised hatred.

"Ah, well, that's not important. You only had to get around your security measures. You couldn't just owl WandLock and tell them to disable everything; there would be a record of that. You told Tiffany to work late, and of course she agreed. You used the Imperius on your own daughter. You told her to contact Candor and have him meet her at the entrance. He let her inside, then she told Tiffany to use the security code to disable the surveillance equipment. Once the tape was no longer being recorded, Tiffany let you in. You wiped her memory, then proceeded to Candor's office. He was talking with Melanie there, and detected something was off. At just the precise moment he realized a trap had been set, you killed him. Right in front of your daughter. Then you wiped her memory, and left the building with her, knowing Melanie would be the only one on the tape who seemed out of place. Once you arrived home, you sent your Patronus to Tiffany, telling her to reactivate the video surveillance. She didn't ask why; she probably assumed the system had malfunctioned, as silly Muggle technology sometimes does-her thoughts, not mine. It's easy to dismiss something when you don't understand it."

Malfoy looked briefly at Melanie, who was staring aghast down at the table. Her tears had long since dried.

"Zis is all pure conjecture," Moreau snapped. "I'll tear zis apart when it goes before ze Wizengamot, if it even gets zat far!"

"Ah, but we have the murder weapon," Malfoy declared triumphantly.

Hermione's head snapped back to him; she'd gotten distracted watching the judge's face change colors. She knew the murder weapon had not been recovered. It was undoubtedly a wand, but every suspect had had their wand checked by Ministry technicians upon Hermione's request, and none had used the Killing Curse. She felt all the blood drain from her face. Malfoy had overplayed their hand.

The judge seemed to realize this at the same moment she had.

"What, a wand? You're saying I killed Candor, then? Fine. Check my wand. Again."

He withdrew it from his robes, appearing to be blackthorn, eleven inches long. He held it out toward Malfoy confidently; the blond haired wizard took it, smirking.

"Thank you, Judge." Malfoy twirled the foreign wand in his fingers, but Hermione knew he was only pretending to examine it. Then, without warning, he grasped it with both hands, and snapped it in half.

Melanie gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. Hermione's eyes nearly popped out of her skull. Even Phillippe Moreau twitched, staring at the broken wand with a horrified expression. But the judge had no reaction at all, and Hermione felt herself catching up in an instant, the bigger picture so suddenly visible that she felt dizzy.

"You have a decidedly understated reaction to seeing your wand destroyed in front of you," Malfoy commented airily. He dropped the pieces in front of Walledge, then crossed his arms against his chest.

"Auror Granger, your consultant is out of line! 'E 'as damaged my client's personal property! Do somezing!" Moreau shouted, waving his arms in frustration. Hermione gave her usual diplomatic answer.

"I apologize for any inconvenience. Mr. Malfoy is acting independently of myself and my team."

"Don't apologize, Granger. This man tried to frame his own daughter for killing her fiancé. He's evil."

"Prove it, then," Walledge challenged. His smug face had returned to its normal color. He thought he'd won, Hermione realized.

Malfoy shrugged. "Okay."

He reached into his inside robe pocket and took out a different wand than his own. This one was also a dark wood, but slightly shorter than the broken one, perhaps nine inches. Malfoy held it vertically above the table, brandishing it like a trophy. He smiled sideways at Hermione, but she was too busy watching the color drain entirely from Walledge's face.

"This is your wand," Malfoy said. Then he used the tip of it to push the broken pieces of the other wand toward Hermione. "That was Marcus Greene's wand. You talked him into letting you use it after you killed Candor. He idolizes you, so of course he agreed. It looked enough like your own that you thought no one would notice. But there are plenty of pictures of you with this wand in Candor's office; one only has to pay attention. And Greene just borrowed one from the lost and found box beneath Tiffany's desk. This one," Malfoy said, twirling the wand a bit, "I found hidden in a frame in Greene's office. Held his certificate to practice law. Ironic that he was breaking the law by hiding this for you. It's just as you said. Sometimes, 'even the best of us need a little help.' Too bad yours was completely inept."

Hermione remembered Malfoy picking up things in Greene's office and remarking about the certificate's frame being quite heavy, and Greene had been protective over it, but she definitely had not seen Malfoy remove the wand from the frame. No sooner had she thought this than she caught him looking at her, already reading her mind.

"It's all in the wrist, Granger. I told you all would be revealed."

She blinked, determined not to let him see he'd impressed her. She returned her attention to the judge.

"Marcus Greene as at your home to ask for his wand back, wasn't he? He figured out you were involved in the murder somehow and was trying to distance himself." She shook her head. "I assume when we examine this wand for the Killing Curse, we will find it, along with the Imperius Curse. Do you have anything to say?" She asked, though it was just a formality at this point.

"How-how-you can't prove I cast those curses. I forgot-my wand was stolen last week. I'm a busy man and never got around to reporting it." He was slipping, sweat beading on his forehead, wiping his palms against his thighs. Melanie leaned noticeably far from him, looking shell-shocked.

"No, daddy. You had it all day the day Deacon died. I'm sure of it!" she said insistently, turning to Hermione. "Besides, if someone had stolen it to kill Deacon, no one can cast perfect Imperius Curses on a whim with an unfamiliar wand! And the Killing Curse-" she gulped, turning white as a sheet.

"You're quite right. Smart girl," Malfoy said approvingly. "It's clear you didn't inherit that trait from your father."

Suddenly, Walledge lunged across the table for his wand, releasing a guttural roar, knocking it from Malfoy's hand. Hermione was on her feet before it hit the ground, Stunning Walledge so that he lay rigidly across the table.

"That was really unnecessary, mate," Malfoy chuckled to the unmoving wizard. "I'm sure it felt liberating for the entire second it lasted."

After collecting Walledge's wand from the floor, Hermione stood and began straightening her robes. She addressed Phillippe Moreau, who looked bitterly disgusted with his client's behavior.

"Marcus Greene will undoubtedly corroborate this sequence of events when we tell him we found the murder weapon in his office. I'm sure he will take the deal I'm prepared to offer. And Tiffany Swift will admit to the affair and Walledge's request that she restart the surveillance equipment, I've no doubt. You may want to advise your client on his limited options." She looked at Malfoy, who seemed absorbed by every word she spoke.

Then a look of sudden remembrance appeared on his face and he snapped his fingers.

"Oh, right! Before I forget," he said, picking up the red leather bound book. "This is fake." He wiggled it in front of the judge's face. "Although I'm quite sure Candor did hide away your secrets somewhere, it certainly wasn't anywhere you'd think to look."

His eyes softened momentarily as he shifted his gaze to Melanie's suffering eyes.

"Candor had been staying with you; is that right?"

She nodded once.

"Right. Melanie, before he came to work yesterday morning, the last spell he used was Diffindo. I believe he used it to turn up the earth in your rose garden. He used magic because it was faster and he needed to hide something there where he knew you'd find it." Malfoy leaned closer to Melanie, taking her hand across the table. "Candor knew how your father felt about him, but he loved you enough to bear it. You were the only person who he truly trusted with everything he knew...and to carry out his final wishes."

Melanie's eyes were round with shock and grief by the end, but a strange smile ghosted across her face. Malfoy gently withdrew his hand, and looked at Hermione expectantly.

It occurred to her that he had solved this case in one day; he'd done her job faster than she'd ever done it, with no experience. Yes, he'd done it in an unconventional way, and he'd insulted every person they'd encountered. He'd discovered evidence and not told her about it until hours later. And if she'd had said evidence, they could've matched it to Walledge hours ago and avoided the whole scene at the law firm, but they likely would not have discovered the depth of each person's involvement until days later. Begrudgingly, she admitted to herself that, while he was a PR nightmare, Malfoy was extremely valuable. Extremely.

"You feeling alright, Granger?" He asked, his tone edged slightly with concern.

That snapped her out of it. Hermione shook her head and sighed.

"Yes, fine. But I need a moment. I'll get Oliver to inform Walledge of his rights and process him." She walked out into the hallway, turning to ward the door behind her, but Malfoy was there. He stepped over the threshold, tugging the doorknob until the door clicked closed behind him.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm not staying in there with them," Malfoy grimaced. "I don't need to hear them plotting defense strategies while that bastard's poor daughter deals with the fact that her dad murdered the love of her life."

"That sounds like you care."

"Well, I can relate, in a fashion," he jerked his head toward the bullpen, and the two of them began walking toward it.

"What do you think Candor found out about the law firm?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Eh," Malfoy shrugged. "I can't say for sure, but it probably has something to do with Walledge murdering the other two heirs to the firm, or unethical law practices...doling out harsher punishments on Muggle-borns, that sort of thing."

"Oh. I see." Hermione frowned.

"What is it? Come on, don't be so hard on yourself. You'd have figured it out eventually."

"It's not that..." She grimaced. "Well, it's silly. You said you could relate to Melanie...I can't."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, the only sign he was surprised at her.

"That's a good thing, Granger. No need to feel guilty."

"No, I mean...I suppose I haven't met the love of my life. At this point, I don't see it happening." It was her turn to shrug.

"And that doesn't bother you?" he asked, genuinely interested.

"No," she said without thinking. "Although, I'd have liked children. But I love my job; it's my life. I don't think there's any room for a husband and children. It would be impractical."

She felt Malfoy staring at her, and finally couldn't resist meeting his eyes.

"Why are you looking at me like I've grown a second head?"

"I'm just surprised," he admitted, as though it was a rare and unpleasant feeling. "Of the Golden Trio, I always thought you'd be the one to get married and have an enormous family of big-haired, know-it-all Gryffindors. And Potter is on his honeymoon, and Weasley's been married to that witch from the Harpies for years-"

"I'm aware that my friends have successful love lives. But like I said, I'm content. I'm...married to my job."

They had nearly reached the bullpen, but Malfoy stopped suddenly, and Hermione spun to face him. He looked so out of sorts, she nearly laughed.

"Granger, you are even more of a prude than I imagined! No wonder you tried to tell a celibate man to keep his dick in his trousers!"

Hermione blushed deeply and immediately looked to be sure no one was listening.

"Would you keep it down? People are trying to work!"

Malfoy's mouth dropped open.

"Merlin, you're a sad sort. It never ends!" he shook his head, bemused.

"I'm glad my personal life is so entertaining to you," Hermione said sarcastically, crossing her arms defensively over herself.

"Well, whenever you're ready to join the rest of us in the real world, just let me know. I could marry you off in a second." He snapped his fingers for effect, then resumed an even pace toward the bullpen.

"'The real world?' Says the celibate billionaire Ministry consultant."

"Touché."

"Seriously, Malfoy. Half my job is telling someone their loved one is dead, and pretty much the other half is arresting the spouse for killing them. I mean, nine times out of ten, the husband or wife did it. Why on earth would I want to get married? Just look at you..." As soon as the words were out, she wished with all her heart she could take them back. Malfoy slowed to a stop, but they'd reached the bullpen. Thankfully, it was empty, but she could see the rest of her team crowded in Neville's office.

"I'm sorry," she blurted, clenching her teeth. She was an idiot.

Malfoy's face held none of the humor it had throughout the ruse to catch Candor's killer. It was pulled into a careful, detached mask that looked like every picture the Prophet had ever published of him. Like the one she'd seen in her Sunday paper, detailing his family's grisly deaths and his lonely life afterward.

"I loved my wife very deeply, Granger," he said, his voice strained. "And my-my son. I still love them. They're gone, but I wouldn't trade the time I had with them. At least I was truly happy once, even briefly. Can you say the same?"

She couldn't say anything. Her throat seemed to close up painfully; her tongue was as dry as a desert. She tried to swallow, but that proved too difficult. Instead, she shook her head, looking anywhere but at him.

"Look at me."

She raised her head, hopefully seeming stronger than she felt. She was a miserable human being for being so crass, and all to make a silly point.

Malfoy's face changed as she watched him, softening around his eyes. His mouth remained in a hard line, though.

Hermione felt sure that he was going to say something profound like, "it's you who needs pity, not me." It was certainly the moment. He even opened his mouth, and she could see the words on the tip of his tongue, poised to be said.

But some small part of him must have decided against whatever barb he'd planned to throw. His lips closed together, his wrinkled brow relaxed, and he merely frowned at her.

Somehow, that made her feel even smaller.

Then he turned and walked away.

* * *

 **Next time:**

The team begins serious work on the Elias Grey case; Draco and Hermione watch the killer's memory; Shacklebolt announces to the public that Draco has joined the Aurors.

10 reviews for this chapter and I'll update! :D


	5. Haunted By Ashen Eyes

**A/N:** AHHH! Such a great response to the last chapter! I'm thrilled that there were even more reviews than I asked for, all with great comments/suggestions/questions! I'd like to answer some now:

 **First, I'm not sure how long this story will be.** At the rate it's going, I'd say it will be quite long, maybe 30 chapters. I know that sounds daunting...but I've put more effort into this one than I have into any other story I've written, so I want it to be exactly as I've imagined it. Also, I'll be returning to college (yeah I'm old but I can do it!) this month so updates may take longer, but I intend to see this through!

Also, to those who asked: this story does have some lighthearted bits and a SLOWLY developing romance between Hermione and Draco. However please don't forget it is first and foremost a DARK mystery/story of revenge. I can't tell you how it will end...But just so you know, I hate unhappy endings. I plan for MOST of the characters to have a satisfying ending. That includes Draco and Hermione :)

 *****There will be other cases in the future** , but only a few, and none as involved as the Candor case.

I did have one reviewer ask when they would start acting more like themselves and less like Jane and Lisbon from the Mentalist. So far, I think I've kept them pretty well in character. Hermione DOES occasionally lose her temper; she did MANY times with Ron in the books. She sent canaries after him when he was with Lavender. She even punched Draco in her third year. She's very logical, yes, but not perfect, and she does let her emotions get the best of her on occasion. I like that about her, because it makes her relatable.

Once again, Draco is NOT smarter than she is. I hope she's not coming off as the weak link. She hasn't had her chance to really shine yet, but it's coming. :)

Last but not least, I apologize to those who felt "bribed" into posting a review. But really, that's sort of harsh. Less than 2% of the people who read this left any comment at all. Writers, especially those who do fanfiction/don't get paid for their time/effort, basically thrive off reviews. Ask yourself, how much effort does it take you to write a review compared to the effort it takes someone to write an actual story, for you to read as entertainment, totally free? If I requested you mail me a finger before continuing this story, that's bribery! Please don't do that, by the way. Because, ouch.

I have renamed all the chapters to associate them with the color grey to indicate that Elias Grey is always on Draco's mind. This was done with every episode of "The Mentalist" and I felt like paying homage in another way :)

Thank you to: preetybeety, ady71, Musicangel913, Derp, Azerty Keynes, dancingpickle15, allestich1 and ShroudedInShadows, plus the guest reviewers!

Also, I FINALLY have a beta! Hooray!

Sorry for the rambling!

 ***WARNING: THIS CHAPTER WILL BE DARK!***

* * *

Chapter 5

Though Hermione hadn't arrived home until well after three in the morning, she was Flooing back to the Ministry on time for work. Mafalda had thankfully fed her darling Crookshanks, but he'd been sore at her for coming home late and hadn't slept at her feet as he usually did.

When she exited the lift onto her floor, she saw she was the first to arrive. Every office was dark and the desks in the bullpen were quiet. Hermione loved mornings like this, when she had the whole world to herself. A contented smile lit up her face as she unlocked her office door and let herself inside, lit up the room and placed her bag on her desk. Just as she turned to close the door, she saw a blond-haired wizard sleeping soundly in wrinkled robes on her leather couch. His arms were crossed just below his chest, hands tucked into his sides, and gentle breaths caused them to rise and fall.

Hermione couldn't imagine why he would have chosen to stay in her office overnight, or even how he managed to get in after she had locked it. All she could think about was how she'd embarrassed herself in front of him the last time she'd seen him, and she decided she could use a desk in the bullpen until he woke up. She picked up her bag and was just about to extinguish the light when he stirred.

He kept his eyes closed.

"Don't mind me, Granger. Sit down. I don't snore." He sounded as though he was teasing her and her face reddened.

"I'd like to know just what you're doing in here." Her hands balled into fists at her hips.

Malfoy opened one eye and raised its accompanying eyebrow at her.

"Sleeping," he said, as though she were a simpleton. He closed his eye again.

"I never gave you permission-"

"I knew you wouldn't, so I didn't ask. I tinkered with your locking ward. Specialty of mine." He shrugged. "Didn't think it was that serious."

Hermione clenched her jaw and stepped around her desk until she was towering over him. She saw nothing but red, but a small voice in the back of her mind told her she must remain professional. She couldn't stoop to his level. She spoke through clenched teeth, with great restraint.

"Malfoy, it is a crime to break into the private office of an Auror. You can't just-"

"For Salazar's sake, it was hardly breaking in. You had two wards a second year could've figured out. So what is it, are you angry that I'm in here or angry that you weren't smart enough to keep me out?"

Hermione felt the blood burn her face and neck; she swallowed back ugly emotions she didn't want Malfoy to see. She jerked her wand from her robe and aimed it directly at him.

"Get. Off. My couch."

Malfoy opened both eyes and glanced at Hermione's wand with disinterest.

They locked gazes, staring at each other disdainfully. A silent battle of wills waged between them for a long minute until Malfoy drawled his answer, a playful edge to his tone.

"No. I think I'll stay."

Hermione's lip twitched a fraction; her control was slipping. She imagined Stunning him, hanging him up by his toes and turning his hair redder than Ron's. Then maybe punching him a few times. He read her mind.

"Don't do it. There'll be loads of paperwork."

That was it!

"Petrificus To-"

Knock, knock.

"Hermione? You've gotten a memo from Shacklebolt." Mafalda said as she opened the door and stepped inside, oblivious to the tense scene. "He wants to see you and Malfoy in his office in ten minutes." She glanced nervously at Malfoy, who flashed her an easy grin from his spot on the sofa.

Blushing furiously, Hermione tucked her wand away, hoping Mafalda wouldn't notice she'd been about to eviscerate her consultant.

"What is he doing in here? Did-did he sleep here?" She asked, leaning toward Hermione, whispering loudly. Malfoy chuckled.

"I can hear you, you know. I was just testing out the springs in Granger's couch." He rose to his feet, stretching his arms above his head and groaning contentedly. Then he locked eyes with Mafalda and smiled crookedly at her. As he walked past her out of the office, he addressed her over his shoulder. "You should give it a try, Hopkirk."

Mafalda didn't respond. She only turned beet-red, her mouth popping open in embarrassment. Unblinkingly, she looked at Hermione as her hand clutched the neckline of her very modest robes.

"I know," Hermione sighed. "The adjustment period is ongoing."

-:-

On the way to Kingsley's office, Hermione found her thoughts zeroing in again on her predicament. At least things weren't awkward, she thought. It seemed Malfoy had completely forgotten about their conversation earlier that morning. But she wondered if it would be better if they just avoided unnecessary interactions with each other for the rest of Malfoy's time there. As it was, she was probably going to kill him before Friday.

But Kingsley might have decided after the way her team had handled the Candor case that she should clean out her desk, in which case she needn't worry about seeing Malfoy at work, because she wouldn't have a job.

Of course it would have been easier to think rationally had Malfoy not purposely slowed his gait to ensure they would walk the entire distance to Shacklebolt's office together. And he would not stop talking.

"I can tell by your refusal to speak to me that you're going barmy over what Shacklebolt is going to say. I'm telling you, you're overreacting. We caught a murderer after only one day of investigation. The minister will be singing our praises-"

"Please, for the love of GOD, shut up, Malfoy." Hermione angrily jabbed the button to call for the lift, shifting her weight to one hip and ignoring her companion.

"Okay."

He was silent for about four seconds.

"Ever think how strange it is that Muggles basically pray to an invisible, omniscient wizard? Not the right one, obviously, as he's fictional-"

"Some of us like to believe there's a higher power looking out for us," Hermione sighed, not in favor of the current conversation, but happy Malfoy was distracted from talking about Kingsley.

"And there is! If you're a Muggle. There are plenty of real wizards they could pray to; that's all I'm saying." He shrugged.

"God is not a wizard, okay? He doesn't have a wand, for one thing." Hermione tried not to think about how ridiculous this conversation was. It was impeding her ability to worry about her job.

She wondered briefly if Malfoy was distracting her from her worries on purpose, just to be kind.

 _Probably_ not.

"How do you know? Have you met the bloke? Does he come to you in dreams filled with burning bushes and plagues?"

The lift doors opened. Thankfully, it was empty. They stepped inside, and Hermione pressed the button for Shacklebolt's floor.

For a moment, as the lift ascended, she said nothing. Then her eyes widened as Malfoy's comments finally sank in.

"Malfoy, have you actually read the Bible?"

He grinned victoriously.

"Of course. It is the most popular work of Muggle fiction there is. I work with Muggles now; seems pertinent to educate myself on their culture. The whole book is rubbish, mind you, but an interesting read."

His haughty tone and arrogance over getting her involved in his musings made her regret rising to the bait.

"That's...interesting. Can we stop talking now? About anything? Can you...could you just...quietly...move...over there?" She shooed him to the corner of the lift. "Go. Thank you."

Silence overtook them again. Hermione thought Malfoy was trying very hard not to laugh.

When the doors opened, he started again.

"You're still worried about Shacklebolt."

"Oh, well spotted!" She said grouchily, and stormed off toward the end of the hall. Malfoy followed close behind, mumbling. Finally they arrived at a large wooden door. Hermione knocked, trying to quell her nerves.

"We're about to be commended! You'll see. And then we'll have tea afterward. Calm you down. Can't let Wood see you so shaken; that one already has it out for me."

Hermione rounded on him.

"Would you please just SHUT-"

Kingsley's door opened soundlessly, and she looked up to see his stern expression. He held the door open and stepped back for them to enter. Hermione blushed furiously, but Malfoy was relaxed as he took his seat. She sank into the one beside him, refusing to look in his direction.

"Nice to see you're working on that solid professional relationship, you two."

"Yes; we're bonded now," Malfoy said, reaching out and awkwardly patting Hermione's shoulder with three fingers.

Hermione cut across him.

"Sir, before we begin-"

"Begin? You make it sound like you're on trial." Kingsley smiled at her in a fatherly way, and it caught her off guard.

"Um, well-"

"I assure you, you're in no trouble. While I must say I don't understand your unorthodox methods...you closed a high profile case in record time. No one was harmed."

"Just their feelings," Malfoy said with a crooked smile.

"And the reputation of one of the oldest Wizarding establishments in Britain, but to be honest, I won't lose any sleep over it." The minister said mischievously.

Hermione was simply flabbergasted. At the very least, she had expected a warning. It rubbed the righteous side of her the wrong way that she wasn't in some sort of trouble.

"I-sir, surely you realize the-some of the things we did-that MALFOY did and I allowed him to do, will be used as tools by the defense to get the charges thrown out?" she asked pitifully.

"Of course. But in this particular instance, I think you're quite safe. You have a confession, irrefutable evidence, and the arrest was to the letter. It's a good day, Hermione! Try to relax and enjoy it."

She didn't look at Malfoy but she could feel his triumphant leer, and she pursed her lips. Maybe it was childish, but she would gladly take being chided by Kingsley over Malfoy telling her "I told you so."

"Sir...Kingsley...this is not how I was trained. This time, it worked out...but next time? Who is to say next time, someone won't be hurt-or killed! It could be Malfoy! Half the people he interviewed looked ready to cast the Killing Curse!"

"That is why you're there, Hermione. You are the Auror. You are the one trained to dispatch those who mean to do harm. And Malfoy is not completely helpless. He knows what buttons to push, but he also knows when to duck after pushing them." He looked appreciatively at Malfoy.

Hermione bristled even further.

"That is not the point! The point is so HUGE and not actually a point at all!" She waved her hands about, looking quite barmy. "It's like a Bludger and you're both missing it!"

Shacklebolt chuckled again, then his smile tucked into a more solemn line. But his eyes were still shining with laughter and pride.

"You're right. I admire your spirit, and your strict adherence to the law. Forgive my levity." He inclined his head, and Hermione sobered immediately. "But I still see no reason to punish you. However, I will address your concerns." He turned his attention to Malfoy, who sat completely at ease and unaffected in his chair. "Mr. Malfoy, though your methods have been successful this time, Hermione is right-tomorrow, they could have more severe consequences. The law can be frustrating at times, but it is the law. You can only find so many loopholes and lucky chances before you're forced to follow the rules. For your safety, and the safety of your unit, I hope you will conduct yourself more professionally in the future."

"I think I can work with that. Wouldn't want Granger to turn grey prematurely." He smirked. Hermione ignored his jab.

"Thank you. Are you sure-do you think the rest of the Wizengamot..."

"I realize I am not the only person you'll have to answer to if there is...a gross misconduct on Mr. Malfoy's part. But if the time should ever come that you need me to speak on your behalf, you know I'll be there. It's not just your neck if he crosses the line. It's yours, your team's, and mine. I am allowing this to continue because I believe you can be incredibly successful together. You won't disappoint me."

A pleasant, warm sensation flooded through Hermione against her will. Kingsley's confidence in them all was very touching, if undeserved. She finally relaxed, quite exhausted from all her worrying.

"But onto what I wanted to tell you." The minister leaned forward, eyeing them both sharply. "I'll be leaving the country at the end of the week to attend a congress with other leaders in the magical community. We are negotiating terms of trade, international travel laws, etcetera. My temporary replacement will arrive tomorrow. I will make him aware that this arrangement is nonnegotiable, and that I am assigning all cases unrelated to Elias Grey to Finnegan's team. You and your unit will focus on Grey until he is captured. I've already spoken to Finnegan about it and he's on board." Kingsley nodded to himself, then caught Hermione's gaze. "Is this acceptable to you? I want my best Aurors on this."

Hermione nodded immediately, sensing Malfoy's surge of delight.

"Yes, Sir. Thank you."

She saw Malfoy sit up straighter in her periphery, gleeful.

"See? What'd I tell you? Commended." Malfoy rapped his knuckles on the edge of Shacklebolt's desk and stood, then reached out his hand to shake the minister's. "Thank you for this, Minister. If you don't mind, I think a celebratory cup of tea is in order. Going to join me, Granger?"

"Uhhh..." She looked at Kingsley, who raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Why not?" She sighed and followed after him. He was probably going to cost her everything. Her job, her livelihood, her dreams. But he'd caught a killer, and would not stop until he'd caught at least one more, so maybe she should shut up and accept the risks.

"Oh, by the way," Kingsley said as they reached the door. "I will be announcing your partnership in the Ministry lobby at noon. Members of the media have been notified. Hermione, I'd like you to be there, but Mr. Malfoy...perhaps it's best you're not in the building when the announcement is made." His tone was even, solemn. He no doubt expected backlash from the public. Hermione felt a bit sorry for him, as he would likely take the brunt of it.

Once out in the hallway, Malfoy resumed his incessant commentary, much to her annoyance.

"There you go. 'Singing our praises' I think I said. Now, you didn't leave quite enough for your lunch yesterday, so I covered the rest. I think it's only fair you buy the tea."

"There's tea in the common room near my office. And it's free. That how's most of us non-billionaires like it."

The lift doors opened far too slowly for Hermione's liking.

"What's wrong now, Granger? Does Shacklebolt have to give you a medal before you're convinced you've done a good job?"

They squeezed into the lift which this time was filled with people who openly gaped at the pair of them.

Malfoy ignored it, used to gawkers and admirers alike. Hermione sighed, determined he would not get her ire up today. No, she was above it. She was Hermione Granger, a Senior Auror, and she was in charge.

Malfoy leaned closer and whispered into her ear.

"Don't worry. They probably just think we're sleeping together."

As they rode back down to their floor, she decided she would get her hands on a Pensive as soon as possible and relive punching the shit out of him in third year.

-:-

At Granger's request, the team filed into the bullpen, joining Lovegood, who was studiously scribbling notes and reading a magazine called "Wizards in the Workplace." Draco rolled his eyes. What an arse kisser.

Longbottom was the last to show up, choosing the desk on the other side of Lovegood. Wood remained standing, leaning against an unoccupied desk in front of the blonde witch. Granger had Transfigured a book into a large white board on wheels. She selected a black writing device called a "marker" that Draco had never seen before and delicately wrote the date at the top.

"Now." She capped the marker but held onto it as she turned to face them all. "Shacklebolt has informed me that the Elias Grey case is our top priority for the time being. All new cases will be deferred to Finnegan's team until further notice." She took a step forward and a deep breath. Draco recognized that she was about to say something which she expected to get negative feedback. "What I'd like to do is...start from the beginning. Entirely fresh. We will of course all have to review the memories of those who discovered the initial crime scene. But we will reinterview each person thought to have any knowledge of the case. Victims' family members, coworkers..." She turned back to the board and began writing notes.

"Ah, Boss...are you saying we should disregard the profile of the killer that Finnegan's team put together?" Longbottom asked.

Granger kept writing, addressing him over her shoulder.

"Yes. Finnegan has his own opinions, but he's not on this team." After she finished writing a name and past date very familiar to Draco, she turned back around to look at them all. "I want your opinions. I want us to look at everything and put all the theories and rumors out of our minds. Come up with our own profile. Malfoy," she said, causing them all to look at him directly. "I assume you have some insights coming into this, but I ask that you also put them aside. We are completely starting over. We will leave no lead abandoned."

She paused, allowing the weight of her words to be realized. What she was suggesting was a lot of work; extremely tedious, time-consuming work Draco had already done and did not feel like repeating.

But he had come to this place completely out of ideas. A fresh approach was the best route; he was sure of it.

He finally nodded his assent to her demand, and her shoulders relaxed; she had expected him to argue. So had the others.

"Very well. I have put in a request for all records pertaining to the case. Mafalda put a rush on the details of the first murder for us; that's all I have so far. The rest I should have by tomorrow at the latest. Today, I want to give you your assignments."

Draco narrowed his eyes. He'd be working on whatever he wanted, thank you very much. He sipped his tea as Granger turned back to the board and began writing again.

"First things first: Neville, I would like you to take a look at the memory Malfoy received yesterday. Check for curses and wards." Longbottom nodded, though Granger didn't see. "Luna, I need you to take a detailed list of all the evidence we have in this case and put it in chronological order, starting with the oldest."

Draco listened to the squeaking of Granger's marker against the board and felt growing apprehension about what she would "assign" to him.

"Oliver, once we have the list of victims, you and I will decide who should be interviewed in connection and divide up the list between us." She wrote a bit slower as she came to Draco's turn. He leaned forward in his seat slightly, his elbows on his knees.

"Malfoy, you will accompany Oliver and I on every interview. This means sometimes it'll just be the two of you, and I expect absolute professionalism every second." She turned back to face him, a stern look on her face. "There's no denying you're the most observant of all of us. If anyone will notice something that was overlooked before, it's you," she admitted, shrugging. The others didn't look so convinced.

"Boss, he will only piss someone off, and then there won't be any talking," Wood said. He only watched Draco passively. "Better for him to make a list of questions for them and stay behind. We don't need him there to stir things up."

"She wants me to observe," Draco quipped. "That requires me to be there to gauge reactions, determine if someone is being truthful-"

"What are you, a human lie detector?" Longbottom chuckled. Draco shot him a death glare, and the wizard paled and swallowed his humor. "I mean, you...you did good with the Candor case. But this is different."

"I am aware of the difference between the two. I'm not sure if you know this," Draco drawled sarcastically, "but my entire family was murdered by this very same serial killer."

"That's not true," Wood said, with a hint of a dark smile. "You've still got your mum."

"Wood!" Granger said harshly, looking nearly horrified. Draco didn't miss that she'd reverted to calling her subordinate by his last name. Apparently, Wood didn't miss it either, if his irritated body language was anything to go by.

"Sorry, Boss." He said brusquely, though he clearly wanted to elaborate on why this was going to be such a massive fuck-up.

Granger stared hard at him for a long moment, and he backed down. Then she looked at the rest of them testily.

"You don't have to like this plan. You don't have to like Malfoy." She pursed her lips. "You don't have to work with him if you don't want to...but he will be the one who stays." Her eyes caught Draco's silver ones briefly. "Shacklebolt wants him here. End of discussion. If you have a problem with it, take it up with your Minister."

Complete silence followed her ultimatum. Draco could tell she didn't like it, but she spoke the truth. Shacklebolt valued his input now more than ever, since the success with the Candor case. The others could easily be assigned to another team; somehow, though, he knew they wouldn't protest. He didn't miss the obvious signs of respect and admiration they held for their boss. Granger finally smiled a crooked smile and moved on.

"Alright then." She stepped to the side and pointed behind her to the board, which was now covered with neat handwriting. "This is the basic information from the first documented Elias Grey murder." She Summoned a thin file folder from the bag at her feet; it flew into her hands and she promptly opened it. She distributed several photographs as she spoke. "It occurred on the night of the twentieth of January, nineteen ninety-nine in Gloucester." She straightened up after handing Draco his copy of the photograph, then gestured to the board again. "The victim was Marianne Tomlinson, a Muggle. She was thirty-seven, divorced and had one child who was staying with his father at the time of her murder. She worked at a pet shop and volunteered at a boarding facility, and by all accounts was very well liked. A bit-anti-social though. Not very many friends came forward after her death and her funeral was sparsely attended. Her father was deceased; mother lived in France." Granger clipped one picture to the board. It showed a fairly pretty woman with straight brown hair and bright blue eyes. She was smiling reservedly and wearing smart attire; Draco guessed the photo was taken by her employer for record purposes.

Everyone made slight movements to indicate they were following along, and Granger continued. Draco allowed himself to be a little impressed that she had already begun her own research in such a short time.

"The photos are of her home and street. There are a few pictures of the crime scene but the...worst ones haven't been released to me yet. You can clearly see E.G.'s initials on the wall of Marianne's bedroom, where she was found. Most of the victims were found in their bedrooms, but were awake when they were killed. Marianne, though, showed no signs of having been woken by the killer."

Draco's eyes found the killer's initials as soon as the photograph was in his hands. He was unable to rip his gaze away from the bloody letters written unhurriedly on a dead woman's wall. This was a Muggle photograph, thankfully, and the blood didn't drip gruesomely in a loop. A hot, prickly lump grew in Draco's throat as he imagined that smiling brunette in the photo on the white board, lying in a pool of her own blood...so like his wife. Both were mothers. Both were taken far before their time. He found himself strangely hoping Marianne's divorce hadn't left her bitter. Then his thoughts trailed to every time he had failed Astoria, and the soreness in his throat became unbearable. He tried in vain to swallow it back.

"Well, I have to say I'm not impressed with her taste in wallpaper." Draco turned the photo face down on his desk. He kept his hand over it, as though fearful it should try to show itself to him again. Glancing up, he saw Granger's expression harden.

"Malfoy, if these bother you, then I'm sorry to say you're going to have a very difficult time working this case." One eyebrow curved expectantly toward her bushy brown hairline. Draco didn't miss that she didn't suggest he leave.

He visibly relaxed in his chair, leaning back and smirking. But inside his stomach tangled into angry knots.

"You said we were going to look at memories. Would not _those_ offer more insight?" he asked, holding Granger's intense gaze. He couldn't allow her to think he was too weak to handle a few measly photographs.

"Yes, we will view the memories of those who investigated the crime scenes. But as Marianne was a Muggle, and we didn't know she would be the first in a long line of serial murders, the Ministry didn't send Aurors to this one. And anyway, memories aren't completely reliable. Sometimes they are distorted depending on the individual's unique ability to retain whatever information their brain takes in...and they can be altered on purpose by someone who is dishonest. I know you know that," she snapped, rolling her eyes. "Just skip the sheep dip and get to the part where you tell me now is a good time to watch the memory you got yesterday."

Draco narrowed his eyes, having to fight harder than usual to keep his face blank.

"What? What is it?" Granger pushed.

"I just...'sheep dip?'" He definitely smiled a bit. _Bugger_.

Granger blushed so she was nearly purple. Longbottom choked back snorting laughter, Lovegood grinned mischievously, and Wood continued imitating a brick wall.

"After Neville has checked the memory for curses, we will all view it. Not before then." Granger shot him a glare that could have reduced Voldemort to a whimpering Squib.

"Okay," Draco said, rising from his chair and stretching. "Well, are you finished with this presentation?"

"Er...yes, until I have the other files-"

"Right. So what am I to do in the meantime?" he asked, intending to sound excruciatingly bored with her. He was thrilled to see her entire body vibrate with frustration; she spoke with a deadly calm that sent the others running to find a task.

"Read a book. Pop home to change your robes? Check on the family business, perhaps?"

Draco shrugged.

"I do enough reading. And the family business is in good hands. Left it in the care of my Vice President, Theodore Nott. I'm sure you remember him."

Granger nodded, already distancing herself from the conversation and collecting her things to take to her office.

"The change of clothes would be nice, though." Draco smirked again.

"Yes," Granger sighed, gesturing to Draco's wrinkled robes. "Because that makes you look unprofessional and...sort of homeless, actually." She bit her lip, trying to hide her amusement.

"Shall I bring a magnifying glass and pipe to help myself better fit the role of dashing detective?" He joked. Really, she was making this too easy. "By the by, what is the arrangement with the Muggle police? Surely they don't know about us?"

Granger nodded.

"Some do. Their Prime Minister and top officials are aware that we have magic. We have an agreement wherein we don't interfere with their investigations unless they request our help. Then it's explained to the police that we are private detectives who are there on the orders of the Prime Minister. If anyone ever questions that explanation, we are authorized to...persuade them away from curiosity." She tucked a lock of thick hair behind her ear.

"So...you Obliviate them?" Draco raised an eyebrow. Granger shook her head furiously.

"No, of course not. We simply...steer their minds away from that train of thought. The Muggle Prime Minister and Shacklebolt agree that Muggles are still generally not ready to know about us. I don't like how we go about maintaining our secret, but it's necessary. It's the law." She shrugged and sounded convinced, but still unhappy about it. Draco smiled crookedly.

"You're quite the conundrum, Granger. You live for your job and swear to uphold the law, but you disagree with it."

"I don't disagree." She sighed, looking directly into his eyes. "I just don't like deceiving people."

"But you've done your fair share of that, I'm sure," he winked, just to irritate her. Everyone knew the story of how she had impersonated his dear Auntie Bellatrix to help Potter and Weasley sneak into Gringotts.

"There was a war going on," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. Then, she saw in Draco's face that he was truly teasing, and she let herself relax. "And who are you to talk?" She grinned slightly. "You're the sneakiest weasel I've ever met."

Draco chuckled, nodding in agreement.

"Yes, and it's always served me well. Cunning and trickery saved my life in the war. Saved my family's business. I have no problem deceiving people. They don't have a problem with it either, because most of them never know I'm doing it." He smiled at her again, totally remorseless. "Some of them walk away quite satisfied." Her mouth twitched, but she kept most of her returning smile off her face.

He could still see it in her eyes, though.

With all her things in hand, Granger looked at him with her head tilted slightly, as though trying to figure out a puzzle. She blinked, totally lost in thoughts he was finding difficult to read.

"What?" he asked cautiously.

"Nothing," Granger said, a bit startled at his voice. "I just wonder how you can go from being this annoying prat who questions everything I do, to being quite...charming, admittedly, in your own way. I guess you have to be a bit eccentric to run a successful company, huh?"

He didn't speak, mostly because he honestly couldn't tell if it was a rhetorical question or not.

Granger shook her head to clear the thoughts away and turned to go to her office. Draco watched her go, feeling unsure whether she had insulted or complimented him.

"We'll visit with Marianne's ex-husband and coworkers after we've seen the memory. Neville is certain he'll be finished with it today. I hope you have some decent Muggle clothes."

-:-

Neville walked beside Luna toward the Evidence Room, where she would begin assembling her list of all the evidence relating to Elias Grey murders. She carried a long silver quill with a bundle feathers at the end which constantly changed colors. It was tucked inside a sheave of parchment under her arm, and Neville really wanted to ask her about it, but he couldn't decide how to start.

So they didn't speak as they unlocked the wards on the room and entered, Neville gesturing gallantly for Luna to enter first. She breezed by him without comment. He felt his cheeks burn as her movement stirred the air.

"Will you work in here, Neville?" Luna asked, approaching the nearest row of shelves and Transfiguring her bracelet into a bright green ladder. She took the second rung just as Neville cleared his throat.

"Er, well, probably it's best if I take the memory elsewhere. If it is cursed, we don't want it to damage any evidence...or hurt anyone," he said, focusing on her hair as it fell over her narrow shoulders. His eyes widened. "Unless you want some company, maybe-"

"No, you're quite right. You should take it to one of the lower levels. Perhaps the training room is empty." Luna used her wand to slide the ladder along the shelves slowly as she examined every piece of labeled evidence. It was sorted according to type, and she'd begun with weapons. The collection of wands, knives, swords and potion bottles wrapped with protective wards filled an entire wall of shelves. She didn't think Elias Grey had never been known to leave a weapon behind, but she wanted to impress Hermione and would check every single shelf in the room to please her.

Neville bit back his disappointment, chastising himself for losing focus on the task at hand. Hermione would have his head if she found out how distracted he was around Luna. But he couldn't help it. She was very, very...distracting.

"Okay. Well, just let me know if you need any help," he said lamely. Luna nodded without looking at him.

"Thank you. I shall. I don't imagine it will take very long. We don't have much in here, unfortunately."

Stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets, Neville trudged to the far side of the room where memories were stored. He withdrew his wand and muttered, "Accio most recent addition to Memory Evidence."

A small vial of swirling silver mist flew into his hand. A white label with the previous day's date and the words "Suspected Elias Grey Memory-submitted by H. Granger" was curled around the glass, automatically created by the spell Hermione had used to send the item into safe storage.

Neville took a deep breath as he mentally prepared for what could be a very dangerous task. He frowned unseeingly at the neatly spaced, towering collection of strangers' memories. This memory he was about to examine had supposedly come from a sadistic, highly intelligent serial killer, who was receiving help from at least one wizard.

Swallowing his building fear, he realized there were much more frightening things that could happen to him than being rejected for a date.

And Merlin's beard, he'd slain a giant evil snake and saved (helped save) the world!

He straightened, gathering his confidence, and marched back to where Luna was scribbling notes, standing near the top of her ladder.

Neville blanched, but his fingers tightened around the vial.

"Um-Luna?" He cleared his throat. "Luna."

She turned, casting a quizzical glance over her shoulder.

"Yes? Everything alright?"

"Yeah." Neville smiled tightly. It's just-I've been wondering for a while, if-would you like to go to Diagon Alley with me sometime? We could have tea..." He finished weakly, but held eye contact. His pounding heart was in his throat, but he dare not look away from her stoic face.

"Neville," she said, shaking her head. He felt his heart drop.

"Okay, never mind. I'm sorry. I know we're not supposed to, you know, since we are on the same team. But I thought, one cup of tea is harmless enough. We might decide we can't stand each other before we get to the biscuits," he laughed, too loudly. His face erupted in red blotches.

Luna laughed, and it was like music.

"No, I'd love to go out with you. I just don't drink tea." She smiled warmly, all of that warmth directed at Neville, and his heart nearly exploded.

"Oh! Okay! Well-that's excellent-what about tomorrow? I'll meet you in the lobby and we'll go to lunch?" He hoped he didn't sound totally desperate. But he was floored.

Luna nodded, still smiling.

"Of course. But what shall we do if we do like each other?" She titled her head to one side, holding on to her ladder with one hand while the other still held her quill and parchment. She was beautiful. So he decided he rather didn't care about the rules.

"We can cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, I'd be happy just to get to know you better."

"Sounds nice," she nodded, then immediately became serious. "We need to get to work, I think. We can talk tomorrow."

Neville let out an enormous breath, as quietly as possible, and nodded furiously.

"Yes-right. Well, have fun. See you later," he said quickly, but she had already turned back to the shelves. Neville stole one last look at her, and left feeling lighter than he had since Harry had jumped down from Hagrid's arms after surviving Voldemort's Killing Curse.

As he closed the door to the Evidence Room behind him, he opened his palm to look at the vial.

"Please, don't kill me today. I have a date tomorrow."

And he headed to the lift.

-:-

For whatever reason, Malfoy stayed in Hermione's office, just lying on her couch with his eyes closed. But he wasn't sleeping. No, that would be too kind.

Every five minutes he would make random commentary and break her concentration. It was true that she was only catching up on paperwork and organizing her desk for the hundredth time, but it still set her teeth on edge.

"Is this what you do with most of your time? Fascinating use of Ministry funds," he said sarcastically.

She narrowed her eyes at him over her desk.

"You know, it isn't like you read about in The Prophet, Malfoy. Most of our time in the real world is spent waiting for something to happen."

"You mean waiting for someone to die?" He peeked at her surreptitiously through one barely open eye.

"Well-yes. Unfortunately, that is the job. And if people ever stopped killing each other, I wouldn't have a job at all." She went back to organizing her ink pots by color. Black and blue. Hmm, done with that already...

"But you'd gladly be unemployed if it meant no one else was ever murdered?" It sounded like a question, but when she looked up at his face, both eyes open and one eyebrow raised in interest, she knew he didn't expect her to deny it.

"Of course." She shrugged. "That's the goal, really. To catch and punish enough criminals so the next one thinks twice before killing someone. Some people don't do certain things because they're wrong. Other people don't do those things because they are afraid to get caught."

"So accomplishing your end goal will render yourself obsolete." Something about his tone caught her attention in an ominous way.

His eyes were silver steel, seemingly looking through her. Her cheeks burned just from how intensely he was staring. She nearly felt compelled to brush invisible dirt off her face.

"That...is one way to look at it," she responded tonelessly.

He watched her for a few moments longer, summing her up. Finally, his face relaxed into its usual bored expression and he turned to look up at the ceiling before closing his eyes again.

"But still you pursue that end. I understand, Granger. Achieving my goal shall render me void as well, most likely."

Slowly, as his words sank in, a chilling feeling seemed to drip from the top of Hermione's head down over her entire body, like liquid ice. Her lips drew together in a tight, thin line; her fingers gripped so tightly onto the edge of her desk that she vaguely realized it hurt.

When she spoke, her voice was devoid of any warmth, not to be mistaken for friendly advice. She meant business.

"If you think I'm going to let you get close enough to Elias Grey for that to happen, then you have grossly underestimated me."

Malfoy didn't move; only his chest rose and fell steadily, unperturbed. But he answered her with enough chill to freeze Fiendfyre.

"No. If you think he'll ever see a day in court, then _you_ have grossly underestimated _me._ "

Hermione began to retort, but Neville opened her office door then, knocking as an afterthought.

"Boss, I...uh, am I interrupting something?"

Rolling her eyes, she remembered Mafalda's scandalized look when she'd caught the two of them in Hermione's office. Now Neville. Two strikes in one day.

"Nothing important. What's up?"

"I've finished with the memory," he said proudly. "I've already taken it to Meeting Room One so we can all see it together."

"That was fast. So, was it protected?" She immediately forgot about her argument with Malfoy. He did as well, listening with rapt attention to Neville's words.

"Actually, no. I ran the tests half a dozen times to be sure, but there are no traces of protective magic on it."

"I'm not surprised. None of the others I received were warded." Malfoy shrugged, but she thought he looked a little disappointed.

"What is it?" she asked reluctantly.

"Well, I was hoping this one would be different. So far it seems the same." He dragged a pale hand over his face, then pushed off against his knees to stand. "Still, I've waited long enough to see it."

"And you have no issue with the rest of the team observing?" Hermione asked as she stood also, gathering some parchment and a quill.

Malfoy sighed. "No. They'll see the photographs soon enough anyway. And as I said, I have seen this all before. Let's get this over with."

He was the first one out the door. They followed Neville to the meeting room where Luna and Oliver were already waiting, all sat at a round table. In the middle was a large Pensieve, the waters inside perfectly still. The vial with the swirling memory sat ominously beside it; a sense of deep foreboding filled Hermione's chest.

"Hey, Boss," Oliver greeted. Hermione met his and Luna's eyes and nodded.

"Before we begin, please remember that this is very sensitive material..." she glanced at Malfoy, who was staring into the Pensieve, "for more than one reason. You are not to discuss the viewing of this memory with anyone outside this unit. We'll go over what we've seen once it's finished."

Hermione cast a look at all of them, waiting for questions, but they all murmured assent. Except for Malfoy. He simultaneously regarded the vial as both intriguing and insidious. A sneer twisted his face; his nostrils flared and fingernails dug into his palms.

"Malfoy," Hermione said gently, "you don't have to do this. I'll write a full report-"

"No," he said firmly, finally looking at her with clear, emblazoned eyes. "I do have to do this. They're my family."

A painful silence overtook them all. Hermione took a deep breath and reached out to pick up the vial.

She removed the stopper, looked sideways at Malfoy again, and poured the contents into the Pensieve. It twisted and feathered darkly through the water, beckoning to them.

"Okay," Hermione said, leaning forward. "Here we go."

And they plunged in, Hermione thinking how terribly ironic it was that Malfoy couldn't see photographs of his family's bodies thanks to Kingsley's charm, but he was about to watch their murders happen all over again.

-:-

Astoria Malfoy was laughing. Her long dark hair was partly pulled back into a diamond studded clip at the crown of her head. Her flowing green robes looked magnificent against her alabaster skin.

She sat with her sister in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, each occupying ornate chairs in front of an empty fireplace. It was May, after all, and too warm for a fire. The wine they drank flushed their skin. Astoria fanned her face with her hand as she finished giggling over shared gossip.

"Oh, Merlin! I had no idea about Pansy! Do you think she'll leave her husband?" she asked, taking another sip of wine.

Hermione glanced around and saw her entire unit stood in plain view of the sisters. A gilded mirror over the fireplace showed no one besides Astoria and Daphne in the room. But this memory was from the killer's point of view, so for him to be unseen, he must have worn an invisibility cloak or Disillusioned himself. Hermione felt her heart sink as she tried to determine where he must have been hiding. They'd already concluded he was being helped by a wizard to cover up his crimes, but now it appeared they were also helping commit them.

"I doubt it. You know Pansy," Daphne drawled, rolling her eyes. "She'll be on to the next one by August. If not before then. Her husband lets her have her fun, as long as he can have her money." Daphne took another delicate sip of wine, winking at Astoria over the rim.

"That's a shame. I always thought she really loved him."

"Goodness, no! Stori, you know she never got over Draco. She always claimed he was her one true love." She rolled her eyes again, and Hermione decided she wasn't fond of her. Then she remembered this memory was years old, from before Astoria was killed, and imagined her sister would likely be different now.

Malfoy kept his eyes locked on Astoria. Even as he circled the room, absorbing the same details over and over, he never strayed far from her. Hermione's breath caught at the uncomfortably obvious longing in his eyes.

She recalled the story of the Deathly Hallows, and the brother who was driven mad from seeing his dead beloved through the Resurrection Stone; she imagined Malfoy watching this memory night after night, and chills shot down her spine.

"Well, Draco is certainly...unforgettable." Astoria sipped her wine primly.

Daphne raised an eyebrow.

"Have you two had another row?"

"No," Astoria said coldly. "He isn't home enough for that."

"I see." Daphne blew out a loud breath between her lips, looking around the room, straight through Luna and Neville.

"Don't say what I know you're going to say."

"Well, you know you have so many nice things, even for a Pureblood. He couldn't give you and Scorpius all this if he stayed at home." She leaned back further into her chair, looking expectantly at her sister.

"I know." Astoria pinched the bridge of her nose. "But he's missing everything. Scorpius needs his father. You should hear him asking for him...it breaks my heart, Daphne. And look, it's so late and he still isn't home. He wasn't here to put Scorpius to bed..."

The beautiful, regal witch was fighting back tears. Hermione couldn't bring herself to look at Malfoy; she couldn't imagine a more heart wrenching conversation to overhear just before seeing his family murdered.

Then an unseen force pulled them all toward the staircase. The voices of Astoria and Daphne became distant as they traveled up a dimly lit flight of stairs and down a hall with many doors. The semi-darkness and heavy quiet caused the hairs on the back of Hermione's neck to stand on end. She glanced behind her to see Neville, Luna and Oliver following closely. Malfoy stood beside her, now swiveling his head side to side. All of them were searching for the killer, who must have been there, but was only a ghost.

Their footsteps made no sound against the plush carpet. When they approached a door at the end of the hallway, they stopped. All eyes snapped to where the killer must have been standing: an empty space to Hermione's left. She convinced herself she could see a shadow, but it must have been her mind playing tricks on her.

The door opened without the slightest creak. They followed the killer into a small boy's bedroom. Toys and books littered the floor around a large bed made of dark, carved wood. Hermione's eyes immediately lighted on a beautiful blond boy, no more than five years old. His face was serene with sleep; his chest rose and fell peacefully. His arm clutched a brown, rumpled teddy bear, fur matted with sweat from his closeness.

Hermione swallowed as an extra pillow at the foot of Scorpius Malfoy's bed rose into the air and hovered toward where his head rested. At that moment, she acted entirely on impulse.

Reaching out her right hand, she grasped Malfoy's wrist. Holding his hand was too familiar, but she felt moved upon to comfort him somehow. He didn't pull away.

When she looked at his face, because she could no longer watch the scene before her, she caught him tear his eyes away, too. He looked down at his feet and squeezed his silver eyes tightly shut, grimacing in extraordinary pain. Feeling like she was intruding on an extremely private moment, she bit her lip and looked at her fingers encircling his limp wrist.

Hermione heard not a single noise; no whimper to indicate Scorpius ever stirred. She thanked God with a thousand silent prayers that he'd never known he was dying.

He'd only drifted away into his dreams.

Finally, she looked up. Just long enough to see that Scorpius wasn't breathing anymore. The pillow used to smother him had been returned to his feet.

She blinked to clear her damp eyes and found the faces of her team, all somber and avoiding looking at Malfoy. Luna looked more disturbed than Hermione had ever seen her, though she didn't cry.

The scene began to shift again. Malfoy cast one last lingering look at his son, who looked to still be sleeping. Hermione released his wrist, but he didn't appear to notice.

The scene wavered and they were whisked back into the drawing room with Astoria and Daphne, both now standing and saying their goodbyes.

"Let me know if you need to get away for a while. We'll take Scorpius and holiday in Paris for a few weeks. And we won't tell Draco. Let him come home to an empty house for once. Get him to miss you." Daphne half-smiled at her sister.

"I'll think about it. Narcissa is there now. She invited us along, but I didn't want to go without Draco. Though, Scorpius would love Paris. Who am I kidding? I would love Paris!" She giggled. A hard lump formed in Hermione's throat as she realized that at this moment in the past, a laughing Astoria had no idea her son lay dead in his bedroom. Her plans for a trip neither of them would take almost drew the threatening tears from her eyes.

"Good! I'll owl you about it tomorrow. I love you." Daphne embraced her sister, then stepped toward the fireplace, collecting a fist full of Floo powder. "Give Draco my love. Maybe hex him a bit. He'll know it's in good fun." Her green eyes twinkled with amusement. Astoria laughed again, and waved just as the green flames whisked Daphne away.

None of Hermione's team spoke as Astoria surprised them all by leaning heavily against the mantle, her forehead against her forearm. She stayed that way a moment, taking deep, cleansing breaths. Malfoy moved nearer to her, his eyes glued to the tension in her delicate shoulders.

Then she straightened, tossed her hair behind her shoulder and began to walk toward the staircase. Hermione noted with growing apprehension that Astoria's wand lay next to her wine glass, forgotten on the low table. Moments after Hermione located it there, it rose above the table, seemingly of its own accord, and then snapped in half. It then disappeared, likely having been tucked into the killer's robes.

Astoria hadn't heard a sound; she was already climbing the stairs.

She was unmistakably heading for her son's room. For this journey, Malfoy seemed to hang back, causing Hermione's heart to race faster. The unpleasant conclusion of the memory was very near. She wished with all her soul that she could warn the poor woman that her killer stood just beside her.

Finally, Astoria reached the end of the long hallway and carefully turned the knob to enter Scorpius's bedroom. She walked gracefully to his bedside with a small smile on her face. She lowered herself silently onto her son's bed, then reached out to lovingly push his hair out of his eyes.

Hermione couldn't see her face. She stood to the left side of the room near the doorway, with the rest of her team. Only Malfoy had gone to stand on the right, nearer to Scorpius's bed.

From behind, Hermione could detect the exact moment Astoria realized something was wrong. Her body froze; the hand that touched his skin stilled abruptly and all the air left the room.

When she spoke, her voice sounded curious. As though she expected he was childishly tricking her.

"Scorpius." she said quietly. Then her hand slipped down to his arm, and she gave it a gentle snake. "Scorpius?" Her tone was tainted with unease now.

Then she cried out suddenly, and her body jerked awkwardly on the bed. Her legs collapsed when she tried to stand, and she rolled to the floor, dragging Scorpius' blanket with her.

At first, Hermione didn't know what had happened, but then Astoria pressed her hand into her side. When she held the hand up to her face, looking puzzled, Hermione could see in the dim moonlight filtering in that a dark, shiny substance covered her hand.

Blood.

Astoria's brows knit together as she stared at it. Then she began to Summon her wand.

"Accio wan-" She cried out in shock and pain again as she gripped her left arm with her bloodied hand. It, too, had been sliced with an unseen weapon.

Astoria leapt to her feet, backing up against Scorpius's bed protectively.

"Who are you! Accio-"

An audible blow landed in the center of her face, whipping her head to the side. She stumbled, throwing an arm over Scorpius, both to protect him from the attacker and from her weight. Her hair splayed out across her face and shoulders; some of it stuck in the blood oozing from her arm. She looked at Scorpius with wide, horrified eyes, searching for wounds.

Hermione felt the tears finally squeeze out of her eyes as she watched Astoria realize her son hadn't stirred at the noise, wasn't breathing, wasn't alive.

"No! SCORPIUS?" She screamed, clutching at her hair, eyes frantically searching her son's body for signs of life.

Hermione saw Malfoy step further away from the bed.

Astoria was thrown then, landing hard on her back and hitting her head. She didn't move at first, dazed by the fall. Her dark hair seemed to move on its own, and an invisible fist gripped it close to her scalp, pulling loose the diamond clip. It fell to the floor beneath her body. Then she was being dragged across the room, where they all were crowded together except Malfoy.

Hermione, Luna, Neville and Oliver rushed to get out of the way. Astoria suddenly became aware again of what was happening and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

"He's-HE'S DEAD! HE'S DEAD! DRACO! DRACO! HELP! PLEASE, HELP! ACCIO WAND!"

But her wand didn't come to her. It lay broken and useless in the killer's pocket, foreshadowing what was to come.

The bloodied woman frantically reached for anything she could use to stop herself being dragged back into the corner of room. She kicked her legs, arched her back, and violently swung her arms, hoping to hit her attacker. Her son's books and toys scattered, some smeared with her blood. Hermione felt sick watching Astoria's wild eyes dart into every corner; her gasps and sobs and fingernails scratching at the floor were the only sounds.

The witch continued to call for her husband. Hermione couldn't imagine the guilt and self-loathing Malfoy would feel at hearing his wife cry out for his help. _She_ felt guilty, even though it wasn't her name Astoria screamed.

Once her body had been dropped face-down where the large window met the corner of the bedroom, she was kicked somewhere near her rib cage; her back bowed and she choked on her breath, sounding near to vomiting. Her hair was released and she rolled onto her back, staring up at nothing.

She stopped screaming. She sobbed quietly, the shock beginning to take over. Her pupils dilated fully as she stared at the vaulted ceiling, charmed like the Great Hall to look like the night sky.

Her arms moved against her will, fluidly spreading wide, as though she was preparing to fly. Hermione watched as the fabric of her robes and the shape of her body seemed to contour and shift under the weight of the killer as he knelt against her abdomen.

Astoria remained focused on the ceiling. Her jaw tensed, face hardening as she began to accept her fate. Angry tears rolled down the sides of her face into her hair. She had lost, but her son was gone. If she'd had any fear, it would have been for him. Now she only seemed to want it over with.

"My husband will find you. He _will_ find you." She spoke in a monotone. Her voice cracked only slightly at the mention of Draco. Not even her love for him could snap her out of her shocked state.

The killer didn't respond at first, but Hermione thought she could sense hesitation. She looked up into Malfoy's eyes. He had moved closer now. He was standing just to her right, further from Astoria than she. But he watched his wife with deceptively calm eyes. Hermione thought he looked...almost proud at her defiance.

Then a soft, eerily gentle voice that sounded intentionally disguised, whispered a chilling taunt.

"I sincerely hope he does, Mrs. Malfoy."

Astoria blinked furiously, holding back her tears. She turned her head shakily to look at where her son lay dead.

Then a brutal slash ripped across the perfect skin of her throat, and blood gurgled in her mouth as she tried to breathe. The killer held one of her hands to the floor, but Astoria's other one ripped free and struggled to reach her neck.

Blood began to fan out behind her head, soaking into her hair. Her lips stained red as her face became dangerously pale.

Her free hand fell limply against her chest. She hadn't had the strength to attempt to staunch the bleeding. Her limbs twitched grotesquely as she struggled for air.

Hermione tried to view the memory like she had many others: as a piece of evidence necessary to solving a crime. But that was impossible to do when the victim's husband was standing feet away.

It would have been bad enough had Malfoy been horrified. But he merely stood there, numb from seeing the same thing so many times. He didn't look angry. If anything he was no longer processing what he was seeing.

When Hermione looked at Astoria again, her eyes were closed and she lay in the position Hermione had seen before in glimpses of photographs. The late Mrs. Malfoy resembled a grotesque angel in green robes.

The weight on Astoria's body lifted. Knowing what came next, everyone shifted their attention to the wall beside the tall window.

A few silent moments passed until Neville gasped. There on the pristine wall, invisible fingertips dragged and curled and dotted blood into the shape of two dripping, sinister initials.

E.G.

The memory became distorted as the scene shifted to just outside Scorpius's bedroom, where the door was now closed. Invisible hands pinned a letter to it neatly. It was clearly addressed to Malfoy, but the memory changed again before anyone could read it.

They were back in the drawing room, getting their bearings just as the rushing sound of the Floo filled the room.

Hermione turned to see a younger Draco Malfoy step onto the hearth. He was like a different wizard, dressed impeccably without a wrinkle in sight, clean shaven, every hair in place. His eyes looked through her, through the present Malfoy, sensing something was wrong.

"Astoria?" he called, frozen.

Then the scene ended before they could see his reaction, and Hermione felt her consciousness being lifted to the surface of the water.

She let it carry her without a fight. She'd seen enough of that night at Malfoy's home to last her a lifetime. When they'd all exited the memory, each one blinked to adjust to the light in the meeting room.

Hermione wasted no time in voicing the most important thing she had observed in the long minutes inside the Pensieve.

Turning her head to directly face Malfoy, she said, almost accusingly, "He was still there when you came home."

"Well spotted, Granger," he sneered, leaning away from her and looking at anything but an Auror.

"No, that is significant. As far as we know, no one has ever walked in on an Elias Grey killing and survived." She spoke quickly, eager to get the words out before she exploded. Malfoy finally looked at her, detecting the excitement in her tone. "You're the only one."

"So? I had my wand. He wasn't expecting me. Coward couldn't face me unless it was on his terms."

"How did he escape?" Oliver asked suddenly. "You were there. How did he get away without you hearing the Floo?"

Malfoy clenched his teeth, not missing the undercurrent of suspicion in Oliver's tone.

"After I came home, I could feel something wasn't right. I went to find Scorpius...it's entirely possible he used the Floo without me hearing. I was...inconsolable." His lips pressed together so hard they turned white.

"Or he could have Apparated," Luna offered. "Malfoy Manor is a fortress. There's no way the killer got inside without disabling the wards first."

"Yes, and some of those wards were of my own design. They were highly complicated to disarm." Malfoy was looking into the Pensieve again; he sounded almost surprised. No doubt he had thought his home was one of the safest in the Wizarding world. He couldn't come to terms with the fact that someone had beaten his defenses.

Hermione steered the conversation back to the thing she was most intrigued by.

"How he escaped is irrelevant. It's directly related to how he got inside, and we may never know that until we catch him and he decides to tell us." She put both hands on the table, palms down, and took a deep breath. She looked at Malfoy again, a hard expression on her face. "I realize you had your wand. But as you said, you were off your guard, inconsolable. You couldn't see him, didn't know he was there. He had a distinct advantage. So why didn't he kill you?"

"I don't know, Granger!" he said, slamming his fist on the table. The water in the Pensieve trembled. "Don't you think I've asked myself that question before? I don't know! I don't know why he didn't." He ran a hand through his hair, then said quietly, so only Hermione could hear, "Most days, I wish he had."

Everyone was silent for long minutes. Neville cleared his throat uncomfortably. Luna looked content to observe everyone else's unease.

"Well, I'll say it," Oliver started, ignoring a warning look from Hermione. "Your family's murders were personal. All E.G.'s kills are."

Hermione relaxed. He wasn't being cruel, just stating the facts. She inclined her head to signal him to continue.

"He learns the schedules of his victims to be sure he will have time to carry out the murders and clean up afterward before the roommates or spouses come home. Eighteen of the twenty killed were women. One child makes nineteen. Obviously E.G. has a preference for hurting women, so your wife fits the pattern, but your son doesn't. And he's never killed anyone by smothering them. He could have killed Astoria before she found Scorpius dead, but he allowed her to find him and even taunted her about killing you before he killed her. Then as you said, he sends you this memory over and over knowing you can't resist watching it."

Neville shook his head in disgust. Malfoy looked blank as he often did, but he was listening to Oliver closely.

"He suffocated your son, tortured your wife, and now he's torturing you without even touching you." Oliver pointed to the Pensieve. "If this isn't personal, I don't know what is."

Malfoy nodded in agreement.

"Yes. But I happened to know that already. Thank you for the pointless speech, though."

"Malfoy, he's only trying to help!" Hermione said exasperatedly. "I told you, we are investigating this anew. So, we've decided he murdered your family for some personal reason." Malfoy pushed away from the table and stood, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking away in irritation, but Hermione kept talking. "Combining that with the fact that he killed Scorpius in a...more humane way than Astoria, we can assume he feels differently about killing children-or perhaps had a soft spot for yours. It's likely he knows you, even knew Scorpius. That significantly narrows the suspect pool."

Malfoy laughed bitterly and stopped his pacing to glare at her.

"Just one problem with that theory. I am the President of Malfoy Enterprises, a successful, globally known company. I'm the last surviving male heir to one of the oldest Pureblood Wizarding families, and a Death Eater who defected during the war. I am extremely well known. And as much as Astoria and I tried to prevent it, sometimes the press was able to get photographs of Scorpius and even details of his childhood." His voice cracked at his child's name, and he looked quite haggard at the end, but he continued to give Hermione a fiery glare.

"That's true, Hermione," Luna volunteered. "I remember hearing a lot about Scorpius and seeing his picture in the Prophet. My father thought it was tasteless to publish pictures of a small child, and the Quibbler never did it, but the Prophet disagreed."

"Astoria was famous as well, but that didn't make her death easier," Neville pointed out.

"There's also the other obvious conclusion," Oliver said, crossing his arms and looking pointedly at Malfoy. Alarm bells sounded in Hermione's head. "You killed them yourself."

Malfoy snorted, but he wasn't angry. He had been expecting this.

"Are you daft? You clearly saw me enter the memory at the end. I wasn't even home at the time."

"That proves nothing. You could have been the killer, and forced someone to take Polyjuice Potion and impersonate you, so you could send this memory to yourself later and use it as an alibi."

Neville's eyes grew round with understanding.

"He's right! That would also explain why E.G. didn't kill you, and how you were able to interrupt him. He has never made the mistake of misjudging how much time he has to kill his victims and leave undetected." Neville gaped openly at Malfoy, who sneered back at him with obvious hatred. "That's what the Prophet says anyway." He clamped his mouth shut.

Hermione had to intervene before they started killing each other. But Luna beat her to it.

"Draco didn't kill them. I know he's telling the truth." She smiled at Malfoy, but he looked wary, though not ungrateful.

"How? You heard Daphne. She asked Astoria if she and Malfoy were fighting again. Their marriage was on the rocks," Oliver deadpanned.

"I just know," Luna said simply. Oliver rolled his eyes.

"If he killed them, why would he be helping us solve their murder?" Hermione sighed and rubbed her temples, looking down at the table.

"Come on, Hermione," Oliver snapped. "That's obvious. To make himself less suspicious. Or because he gets some sick pleasure out of it."

Malfoy stood up so abruptly, slamming both fists down on the table, that the water in the Pensieve sloshed across the surface, dampening Hermione's parchment. Oliver's hand went to his pocket where his wand rested, but he didn't draw it. Malfoy's jaw clenched repeatedly as he struggled to control his ragged breathing.

"You don't know a _fucking_ thing about my marriage," he spat viciously. "For your information, I wasn't a perfect husband. Show me a man who is. We didn't always agree." He looked down at his hands somewhat forlornly, beginning to calm down. "Astoria endured a lot to be with me. To keep our family together. I...I let her down, but not...not that way. I feel responsible...I _am_ the reason they're dead. But I didn't kill them."

He looked up at Oliver, who seemed to finally doubt his own accusation. Malfoy seemed more haggard and tired than a wizard three times his age. Suddenly he appeared so spent that Hermione had the ridiculous notion that he was going to collapse, so she reached out a hand to touch his arm.

His head snapped to look at her. Silver eyes held no malice, only weary confusion.

Hermione felt her cheeks flush as she realized Draco Malfoy was not about to faint and she was touching him for no reason other than she had felt compelled to do so, just as she had while they were inside the memory. Having no way to explain that to her team, she quickly dropped her hand, clearing her throat.

She tried not to notice that Oliver was quietly fuming. Malfoy surely did.

"I believe," she began authoritatively, "Malfoy was not involved." She looked at him directly. "Entirely innocent." Back to her team. "If he was somehow involved, and wanted to _appear_ innocent, then he might have tried to help the investigation for a while afterward. But it's been six years. It doesn't make sense for him to align himself with law enforcement now. Everyone and their mum knows we've got nothing on him. He could leave the country tomorrow if he wished; he has the money. As for him enjoying misleading us and watching us search for a killer right under our noses..."

Everyone regarded her with strange looks of doubt and disbelief. That she would defend Malfoy, vehemently attest to his innocence: it was unsettling to say the least, and she understood why. None of them would challenge her, though. She had earned their respect. They were her friends second, employees first while on Ministry property. That hadn't been easy. No part of her job was, but she did it too damn well to ever be second-guessed.

"It does seem like the kind of thing the old Draco would find amusing," Luna observed unhelpfully. She meant well, though.

"It does," Hermione agreed. She avoided looking at Malfoy this time. "But that's not who he is anymore. It's been over ten years since Hogwarts. It's time we realize that, and act like it."

Now Oliver, Neville and Malfoy were the ones avoiding eye contact. Luna smiled brilliantly at Hermione, obviously proud of her friend.

"I think we should all take some time individually to...cool down and think about the memory. I want you all to take detailed notes about what you saw. Anything that seemed out of place, anything that we can use to build our own profile of Elias Grey."

The tension in the room slowly started to ease as the Aurors and Malfoy began to collect their belongings.

"Shacklebolt is announcing Malfoy's partnership with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at noon. After that, Malfoy and I are going to see some acquaintances of Marianne Tomlinson. When we return, we'll discuss the memory further."

Like a third year Potions class, they were all dismissed, filing out of the room and heading off to do their course work.

Malfoy remained behind, though he'd walked around the table so he was facing Hermione. His hands tightly gripped the back of a chair. Hermione waited for him to launch into a diatribe about how impossible her team was or how she should never touch him again.

He just stared at her quietly, obviously trying to decide how to say what he needed to say as succinctly as possible.

"Thank you, Granger," he said, nearly tonelessly. But his eyes were honest and open for once. In his face, she could see that he meant it.

"Don't mention it," she said, and broke their gaze to collect her things from the table. "Would you mind telling me...what did the letter on the door say?"

There was no answer. When she looked up again, he'd gone.

-:-

The lobby of the Ministry was bustling with reporters, intrigued employees, and some who were just nosy had no business there; they were all extremely curious to hear the "big announcement" Kingsley Shacklebolt was due to make.

Hermione pushed her way through the densest part of the throng to the temporary podium where Shacklebolt would speak. He was standing off to the side, along with Seamus Finnegan, Mafalda, McGonagall, a few members of the Wizengamot and -

"Ron!" Hermione called, delighted to see her friend. She waved to him and when she caught his eye, he greeted her with a toothy grin.

Years ago, she'd have thrown her arms around him and hugged him, but things were different now. Friendly though they were, they'd both grown up quite a bit in the time since the war. And Hermione doubted Ron's wife would appreciate seeing pictures of them embracing in the Prophet; no doubt with all the reporters around that there would be pictures.

So she settled for smiling at him. The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes were a comforting sight.

"How have you been? How's Gwen?"

"She's well," he said. "I had some business in Magical Games and Sports and saw this crowd...oh! I forgot to write you, but we're having a birthday party for the twins next month on the fifteenth. You'll be able to make it, won't you?"

"I should," she replied, nodding. "I can't believe they're three years old already. Time flies."

"Yeah," he said wistfully. "Gwen wants another, but I'm up to my ears as it is," he said, laughing and pointing to the side of his head. "What with being Flying Instructor at Hogwarts, too. I sometimes call my students by my own kids' names! I've gone a bit mental." He laughed again, then looked more seriously at her. "How have you been? Do you know what all this fuss is about?"

"Fine," Hermione answered. Then she smiled mischievously. "I do know-but I'm not telling. I suppose you'll have to wait five more minutes."

Ron clicked his tongue good-naturedly.

"Same old Hermione! Always a stickler for the rules."

"Funny that I've gone into law enforcement, isn't it?" she winked. "I've got to find Shacklebolt. See you later. Tell Gwen and the kids 'hello' from me."

"Will do."

Hermione smiled at him one more time, then broke away to find her superior.

He'd taken the podium and was casting a charm on it to amplify his voice. The Wizengamot members and McGonagall stood to his right. Mafalda stood to his left next to Seamus. The two were talking quietly; Mafalda was Seamus's secretary also. Hermione approached them with a wide smile.

"Hello all," she greeted, taking her place beside them. "How are we today?"

"Doing well," Seamus said. "How is...the case? Any news?" He was trying to conceal how interested he was, probably due to embarrassment that his team had had to turn the case over to Hermione's.

"We've learned nothing new," Hermione said, partly to comfort him. "There's not a lot to go on, but we're confident things will turn around soon." She turned to the crowd, looking for a platinum blond head before she realized it.

"That's good news. I wish you all the best. Mafalda tells me you're getting on well with Luna?"

"Yes, she's brilliant. I'm thrilled to have her." Feeling uncomfortable talking on the subject with Seamus, Hermione looked at Mafalda. "Have you heard anything more about the files?"

Mafalda shook her head.

"It'll be tomorrow at least. As soon as they're released to me, I'll have them on your desk."

"Okay, thank you. Sorry to keep asking."

Just as Shacklebolt finished testing the volume and clarity of his voice, Hermione found Malfoy. He was standing near the back of the crowd, face smooth and not betraying a thought.

No sooner had her eyes locked onto his than his gaze shifted to match hers. He nodded to acknowledge her. She returned his gesture, then turned her attention to Shacklebolt.

"Alright, everyone, please quiet down. We'll keep this brief if it's alright with you." His booming, deep voice echoed around the spacious lobby. When he finished, the only sound was the trickling of the fountain behind him.

He didn't seem the least bit nervous and Hermione was impressed by this. She, on the other hand, felt her shoulders tense at the thought of the imminent uproar.

"As you are all aware, I'm sure, the sixth anniversary of the last murder in the Elias Grey case has come and gone. I won't lie to you: our investigation has fallen stagnant. We've had no new information come to light in over two years. We have reason to believe he is still a danger to wizards and Muggles alike, which is why I have made the decision to transfer this case to a different set of eyes to get some fresh perspective. Senior Auror Hermione Granger and her team will now be leading the investigation into Elias Grey. This will continue to be a collaborative effort with Muggle police."

Flashes from camera bulbs lit Shacklebolt's face. He glanced down at his hands, resting on a set of notes on the podium. A reporter raised her hand, and her photographer readied his camera.

"Sir, I'm Penelope Clearwater from Witch Weekly. What do you mean by saying you believe E.G. is still dangerous? It's been over half a decade since he last struck."

More cameras flashed; Shacklebolt stood taller.

"A family member of an Elias Grey victim has been receiving correspondence from Grey. We know for a fact it isn't a hoax. There have been no threats made, but that could change at any moment."

The crowd grew louder. Another reporter raised his voice over the roar.

"Who has Grey contacted? Will they receive protection from the Ministry?"

Shacklebolt cast his eyes around the crowd, looking for Malfoy. When he found him, an unspoken request passed between them. Hermione watched as Malfoy began to back away slowly from the crowd, so as not to attract attention. He headed toward the row of fireplaces, preparing to use the Floo.

"That brings me to my next announcement. Auror Granger," he said, and he held up his hand in her direction. Hermione nodded, stepping behind Mafalda and Seamus to approach the podium. She stepped up beside Shacklebolt. "Miss Granger and her team have agreed to take responsibility for the protection of the individual contacted by Elias Grey. It is my personal belief that he has insight that will be useful in capturing this killer. As such, he will be working closely with Auror Granger's unit on the case." He leaned slightly toward Hermione, dropping his voice. "Would you like to add anything?"

Hermione nodded; she looked to where she'd last seen Malfoy. He was standing in front of a fireplace, holding a handful of Floo powder and watching her.

She cleared her throat, taking Shacklebolt's place. She felt the magic of the voice amplifying charm wash over her.

"Before we continue, I'd like to say that I will not be answering any questions about the personal life of the wizard we are working with. I believe it's his decision whether to make those details public." She felt Malfoy's eyes piercing into her. The crowd waited on baited breath to hear what she would reveal next.

"Draco Malfoy will be assisting my team until further notice."

As soon as she'd spoken his name, a mighty roar and blinding succession of camera bulbs filled the lobby. She continued on, determined to power through the explosive reaction.

"I believe Mr. Malfoy can be a crucial player in solving the murders of his wife and son, which would inevitably lead us to Elias Grey. He has spent years and no small fortune on his own investigation into their deaths and has unique skills which have already helped our department solve an unrelated murder case."

"But he's a former Death Eater!" Someone shouted.

"He probably killed them himself!"

"How can the Ministry condone this?"

"What do the families of the other victims think of this?"

Hermione caught sight of Malfoy toss powder into the fireplace and step into the green flames. He wasn't sticking around, and she couldn't blame him. She took a deep breath.

"Mr. Malfoy is a former Death Eater," she admitted, but in a strong voice. "But he revolted against Voldemort during the war and saved many innocent lives. However, rest assured that Mr. Malfoy will always be accompanied by myself or another Auror during the course of our investigation. The other families...I hope will understand what we're trying to do. I hope they'll realize we're doing everything we can to give them justice. And if anyone else has been contacted by or has any information about Elias Grey, please reach out to us. Thank you."

She stepped down from the podium, and briskly walked over to take her place near Mafalda again. The older witch smiled pityingly at her as shouts and accusatory questions sounded off from everywhere.

Shacklebolt took the podium again, waving his hand to demand silence. The crowd calmed slightly, but Hermione didn't miss the many glares in her direction.

"If there are any further questions, please direct them to my Head of Counsel, if you will. That's all for today. Thank you for your time." He stepped down and Transfigured the podium back into a quill, which he slipped into his robes as he walked toward the lifts. Most of the reporters followed him, though he dodged their questions, but a few approached Hermione and Seamus. McGonagall had already disappeared. Mafalda wisely sidestepped them, dodging behind Hermione.

"Auror Finnegan! How does it feel to lose the case to another team?"

Seamus bristled visibly, but answered diplomatically.

"I have the utmost confidence in the Minister's decision." He didn't sound convinced.

Hermione waited to see if he would look at her, but he didn't. She and Mafalda rushed to the side, ignoring the flashing cameras.

"I'm going to grab lunch," Hermione addressed her friend quickly, rubbing her temple. "Can I bring you anything?"

"No, thank you. I've brought mine today." Mafalda nervously looked over her shoulder at the advancing mob. Shacklebolt had escaped, so they were all hot on their heels. "Please be careful, Hermione. Mr. Malfoy's involvement is sure to upset the very unstable lot."

"I will be."

They broke off in different directions, Mafalda toward the lifts and Hermione to the Floo. The questions didn't stop all the way there. She hastily dug her fingers into the bowl of Floo powder and threw it into the fireplace.

She barely had time to think about where to go. She couldn't go to Diagon Alley; surely reporters would follow her there. Deciding she would surprise Crookshanks, she hurriedly said the address to her flat in Muggle London, where the mob wouldn't dare to go.

As soon as she'd landed at her destination, she relaxed considerably. But just as she sighed in relief and sank into her sofa, a dark-robed wizard stepped into view.

"Are you ill, Granger?"

She looked up into quizzical silver eyes.

"Uh-I-was trying to make a quick getaway." She shrugged. "Was being chased by horde of banshees." Then it hit her that he was in her house and he should be the one explaining his presence. "What are you doing here? How did you get in!?" She hopped up from the sofa as she became increasingly alarmed.

"I was trying to avoid said banshees also. Figured they'd know better than to show up in a Muggle community." He shrugged like it was a non-issue. Hermione's mood soured further as he walked around her living room, eyeing her collection of books and pictures. "And I got in through the Floo. No wards, Granger? You're very trusting for a member of law enforcement."

"If someone really wants to get through my wards, they will," she said sharply. Malfoy's eyes cooled as it became apparent she was referring to Elias Grey breaking into Malfoy's own fortress of a home. "Let me rephrase. How did you know where I lived? It isn't a matter of public record."

"Dear, dear _sweet_ Auror Granger," he said patronizingly. "I told you before, I want to know everything about everyone connected to my family's case. Luckily, I have a lot of money and getting information is not an issue." He advanced closer, hands clasped behind his back, a smirk on his face. "If you'd like, I could list every pet you've ever owned. You choose: chronologically or alphabetically?"

"Okay, I get the picture. You know you've just admitted to using bribery to gain details about the private life of a Ministry employee, right? I could-"

"Oh bugger off it, would you? I'm only teasing. I have no interest in how many bloody cats you had as a child-"

"Would you just go home? See your mother. Pay your house-elves-"

"I can't go home. There's no doubt an angry mob of prejudiced morons is there now-"

"Well, it *is a popular meeting place for angry mobs of prejudiced morons-"

"Just stop talking, okay? Be quiet."

Malfoy put one pale hand over her mouth just as her next retort was coming out of it. She had noticed they were getting substantially closer to each other with each barb, but his action of physically shutting her up shocked her into silence.

After a moment, he dropped his hand, half-smiling.

"I came, mostly, to say 'thank you' for what you did at the Ministry. For protecting my privacy. My family's privacy." He soberly looked at his hands a moment. He swallowed thickly. When his eyes found hers again, the shadow had passed as though it had never been. "So, thanks."

Hermione noticed her mouth felt quite dry. That was probably because it had been hanging open for a bit.

"You're welcome."

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Hermione rocked back on her heels as she struggled to find something to say. She didn't usually have this problem; she'd honed her social and public speaking skills to make her Ministry job easier.

But nothing about Malfoy was easy.

Then her stomach growled embarrassingly. Malfoy's mouth twitched as her face turned tomato red.

"Right." He half-smiled. "Well, I'm starved. You?"

Surprised at the unspoken invitation, Hermione nodded immediately.

"It would seem so..." She crossed her arms, shielding her stomach from view. "But we would have to eat someplace Muggle if we want to avoid a ton of questions. I don't have any food here...I haven't had time to go to the shops..."

Malfoy chuckled and walked toward her fireplace. As he put more distance between them, Hermione found she was able to take deeper breaths.

"Keep that magnificent hair on, Granger. I know a place." He stopped in front of her, watching her as his hand drifted to the mantle where the Floo powder was kept.

"Oh," she said, a twinge embarrassed. "That's fine. Nothing intimate though, like last time. This is a business lunch." She straightened her robes primly.

"Are you sure? It would make Wood jealous," he teased.

Hermione didn't rise to the bait.

"Why would I want to do that?"

Malfoy looked at her, his face becoming intrigued. He regarded her as a scientist would a new discovery.

"You're an unusual bird, you know. Have you ever been Confunded?"

"Shut up," Hermione said, without malice. Something about his face kept her from getting angry.

"It was a compliment. Sort of." He chuckled.

He disappeared a moment later, shouting a familiar address. She followed, and a tiny voice questioned why it was so easy.

-:-

The rest of the day was relatively uneventful. Hermione informed her team that after discussing it with Malfoy over lunch, they decided they'd wait until they had the rest of the Elias Grey records the following day to finish discussing the memory. They'd also postpone visiting Marianne Tomlinson's relatives until they had a better understanding of her case. As eager as they were to get started, Hermione gently reminded Malfoy that these things couldn't be rushed.

That meant Neville and Oliver spent the rest of the afternoon in the Training Room. Luna was finishing up her list of evidence. Hermione was in her office, ignoring piles of mail that had accumulated on her desk during her lunch break. She had said everything she'd intended to say on the subject of Malfoy, and determined she would refuse all interviews and requests for further comment.

Instead, she would continue meticulously organizing her desk and finishing up the paperwork on the Deacon Candor case.

Malfoy was stretched out on her sofa again with a book, but she found it annoyed her less than it had done. They didn't speak at all, but the silence was comfortable enough.

By five o'clock, Hermione had finished her tasks and Malfoy had fallen asleep.

Luna popped in just as Hermione was getting her bag.

"I've finished with the list, Boss," she said proudly, handing Hermione a disappointingly thin folder.

"Thank you, Luna. Good work."

"Is something the matter?" the blonde witch asked apprehensively.

"No! Oh, it's just...it's not a lot to go on, is it?" she asked, opening the folder and glancing through the sparse pages. "But I know you've done the best you could, Luna." Hermione smiled warmly at her friend.

"We will catch him, you know. It's only a matter of when." Luna smiled, and half-floated out of the office.

Hermione hesitated, thinking she should wake Malfoy, but seeing that he looked truly peaceful, she decided against it. The man probably didn't sleep enough as it was.

Hermione then realized walking through the killer's memory was the first time she had been inside Malfoy Manor since she had been tortured there during the war. More unsettling, though, was the understanding that a witch and a boy were murdered there six years ago, and their husband and father still lived there.

Hermione stepped into her doorway, grabbing the knob, but pausing. She faced the sleeping wizard and imagined him Flooing home after long work days. Perhaps he would exit the fireplace in the drawing room where Astoria and Daphne had giggled and gossiped and planned a trip they'd never take. She remembered the tall chair with deep green upholstery where Astoria had sat, and the space on the table where her wine glass had been.

She wondered morbidly if Malfoy had changed anything in the house, or if he continued to live in it exactly as it was to torture himself as an act of eternal contrition.

Hermione swallowed, a bitter taste in her mouth.

A few weighted seconds later, the unease became too great. Hermione stepped outside and closed the door.

-:-

Draco didn't know what time it was when he awoke. Granger's office was dark, and the dim light shining into her office from under her door signaled everyone else had gone home, too.

He sat up, dragging a hand across his weary face. He felt the prickly stubble there, wondered why Granger hadn't woken him and kicked him out.

For long minutes he sat there, not even thinking. What was there to think about? That he was more comfortable sleeping on Hermione Granger's sofa at the Ministry than he was going home?

It reminded him of the dread he felt whenever summer break approached at Hogwarts. He chuckled darkly. He'd come full circle.

Finally he decided he shouldn't be there when everyone showed up for work in the morning. He pulled himself to his feet, shuffling out of the tidy office.

He took the lift to the lobby, which was an entirely different scene than it had been earlier after Shacklebolt's announcement. Only a few witches and wizards working the night shift tarried there. He didn't miss the stares they sent his way as he headed to the fireplaces.

Once home, he walked straight past the tall chairs, the carved table. Across the plush carpet, up the stairs, down the hall, until he came to the end. He sighed as he opened the door, checking it for letters out of habit before closing it behind him.

The room was different than it had been on that night. There were no toys, no books, no bodies...it was just an empty room. The carpet had even been removed and taken as evidence due to it being covered in Astoria's blood.

All that remained was a small mattress, big enough for a lone wizard. It sat directly on the floor, next to the large window that provided the only light.

Draco crossed the room, took off his outer robes, and sank into the mattress still wearing his disheveled clothes and scuffed shoes. It would be a sleepless night, again. If he did doze off, his house-elf would likely take pity on him and move him to his bedroom at some point in the night, but until then, he would willingly wallow in self-loathing.

He looked up then, as he did most nights, at the wall directly above his pitiful bed.

Still written there, haunting and malicious, faded red and elegant, the mark of the man Draco would hunt until one of them-perhaps both of them-was dead.

E.G.

* * *

 **A/N** : That's all for now, folks!

Please tell me your thoughts. I DO care what you have to say!

It may be a little longer before I can update next, but it will happen!

 **Next time:** Draco reveals what was written in the letter from the memory; Shacklebolt's replacement gives Hermione's team a harsh ultimatum; Draco and Hermione finally come to an understanding.


End file.
